Kiss Me, Castle: the FMC chronicles
by Cora Clavia
Summary: M-rated chapters of Kiss Me, Castle. FMC means...EXPLETIVE DELETED Me, Castle.
1. 3x22, To Love & Die In LA

This is a spin-off of _Kiss Me, Castle. _This is FMC. It stands for _Fuck Me, Castle_. These are M-rated chapters.

For cartographical, who has been so amazingly helpful as an editor, drill instructor and cheerleader. This wouldn't exist without you, Carto.

* * *

><p><strong>Fuck Me, Castle: LA<strong>

_The last thing you want is to look back on your life and wonder, 'if only.'_

Her suitcase is beside the door and she's halfway finished with her carryon when she hears the key in her front door. She was half-hoping she wouldn't see him before she left. But Josh has her key, comes inside and quickly finds her in her bedroom. He looks confused; he must have noticed the suitcase. "Hey, babe. What's with the luggage?"

She doesn't stop packing, just puts the last few things into her travel kit. She doesn't like being called 'babe.' "I have to go to L.A."

Josh blinks, taken aback. "L.A.? Why?"

"It's a long story." Josh doesn't know about Royce. Or her mother. He doesn't need to hear about all the shadows in her past. He can't fix her. She doesn't want to see the pity when he discovers she's so totally broken.

"For God's sake, Kate. You can't just run off to California without telling me you're even going."

She lets out a short laugh. "Seriously? You travel more in a year than I've traveled in my life, Josh. It's just for a few days."

Josh runs his hands through his hair in frustration. "Look, I know I've been gone a lot. I'm sorry. But I don't want to fight about this."

"About what? This is my business. There's nothing to fight about."

"If this is something you feel like you need to do, then okay."

Kate finally lets go of her travel kit and turns to face him squarely. "Don't patronize me."

"I wasn't! I just meant I don't know what's bothering you. I mean, if it's something about your job – "

"It's personal."

"And you were hoping I wouldn't find out? Is that it?"

"You don't _know_ me, Josh! You think you do. But you don't. You don't know my life, you don't know my past, and I don't owe you that." She's being unfair and she knows it. But this isn't how it works. Josh sees her body. He doesn't get to see her scars.

But instead of his usual reaction (backing down), Josh looks _angry_. She's never seen him angry before. Not like this. They've never fought. She's been telling herself that's a good thing. Now she's not really sure how to react. "Why do you keep _doing_ this, Kate? You've been holding me at arm's length for months. You want me in your bed, but you don't want anything else. I'm patient, but I'm tired of getting tossed aside whenever you don't want me."

Her chest is getting tight. She already knows how this is going to end. She's had this argument before. "Josh, it's not you, I just – "

"You need to figure out what you want, Kate. Because I don't know what it is. But you're right. It sure as hell isn't me."

He leaves without another word, slamming her front door behind him.

* * *

><p>She finally agrees to take the seat beside Castle and stares out the airplane window for a few minutes. Her mentor is dead. Her boyfriend is gone. She's deliberately disobeying a direct order. All in one day. It's been a long time since she felt so alone.<p>

But then she feels the bump of his elbow in her side and looks up to see Castle handing her glass of champagne. "Here."

She takes it with a wry smile. Because after all, the men who left her were the guy who broke her heart and the guy who never really had it in the first place.

* * *

><p>She tells herself she can't share his hotel room. And she tries to tell herself the thin, reedy edge of vibration humming through her body is just the car. Not…something it absolutely cannot be. No.<p>

"I assure you, my intentions are pure."

That's not the problem.

The problem is that right now, she's not entirely sure that _hers_ are.

* * *

><p>"You're not so bad yourself, Castle."<p>

She doesn't mean for it to come out the way it does – so teasing, so inviting – but then she looks at him, really looks. Because he can't be taking it the way it sounds. He knows her. This isn't her. It isn't. Right?

But oh, God. The way he's looking at her. The pure want. He's not even trying to hide it. Maybe it's the quiet intimacy, or the warmth from the wine, or the fact that they're sitting together even though she should have kept her space, but she feels weak. Deliciously weak. Spineless. She's dissolving into a puddle of tingling nerve endings and misplaced emotion and sheer unadulterated lust under his gaze, and she should probably stand up, excuse herself, escape before they do something stupid, but she can't move. She stares at him, drugged into silence by those impossibly blue eyes.

His breathing has gotten shallow, and she watches in fascination as he swallows, the muscles in his throat working. "Kate – "

She leans forward just a fraction of an inch, barely moving, but it's enough. It's acquiescence. And apparently that's what he needed.

He slowly leans in the rest of the way, covers the distance in a single, deliberate, painstaking breath, and when she doesn't make a move to stop him, he captures her mouth, catching her lips in a whisper of a kiss that renders her utterly helpless.

Her heart pounds uncontrollably, her blood pressure hitting the roof as she melts against him, but just as she's gaining confidence, he's losing it. His mouth leaves hers. "Kate. I – I'm sorry." He shuts his eyes, pulling himself back, his face clouded with frustration. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"Castle – "

"You're with someone, and I shouldn't – "

"We had a fight." She swallows, because saying it out loud makes it real. And unavoidable. "We're not – it's over."

She feels her chest get suddenly tight, like she can't suck in a breath. Because that was the single biggest reason Castle's been backing off this year. She's sure of it. And now it's gone. That wall is crumbled into dust, leaving her staring across the emptiness at a man who can't possibly hide the raw desire on his face right now.

"I should go. It's late."

He's out of his seat and halfway to his room before she can blink. "Rick – "

"Goodnight, Beckett."

_Beckett_. Her surname shuts off the moment as effectively as his bedroom door shutting behind him. She blinks, taking a deep breath. Her body is quivering with unresolved need.

After a moment, she retreats to her own room, but as her door shuts behind her she leans on it, her mind whirling. She wants him. She wants him so fiercely it scares her. Her skin is buzzing with desire, her fingers and toes and the roots of her hair and everything so overwhelmingly alive and aware of the man in the next bedroom that she can't think clearly. She's been controlling herself, boxing herself in, holding herself together since the moment she saw the body in the alley. She can't control herself anymore. She doesn't want to. She wants to let go. She wants _him_ to take control. She trusts him.

Her body is aching, the tension in her abdomen coiling so tightly, so pointedly that she knows there will be no sleep tonight. Not until she gets relief. One way or another. Is this what he feels like? Castle's never been secretive about the fact that he's attracted to her. But has his body ever hurt with desire? Does he want her so badly he can't breathe, like his skin is hot, slick with oil that won't evaporate, won't stop burning?

(She's thought about it. Oh, she's thought about what it would be like with him. With the kissing. And the touching. And the gasping. It makes her blush and cross her legs.)

She takes in a deep breath, her hand hovering over the doorknob. If she does this, if she does what she really wants to, this is it. There's no going back.

He's not going to tell her _No_.

She grips the knob and opens the door to the living room.

He's not there, of course. But the light is on in his room, and as she pauses to listen, she can hear noise in the pipes, the muffled sound of running water. He's in the shower.

Heat floods her body, her lips coming apart in a silent breath. Her mind swirls with images of Rick Castle naked, Rick Castle under the shower's spray, water cascading over his skin, hot and wet and steamy, and her mouth goes dry.

With swift steps, she crosses the living room and slowly opens his bedroom door. The bathroom door is cracked open, a sliver of bright light crossing the soft lamplit glow in the rest of his bedroom. His clothes are lying on his bed, like he simply stripped them off on his way to the shower. She can't stop thinking about it, imagining him dragging his shirt over his head with careless hands. How easy it would be to finish the job for him. Pull him down onto the bed. Not stop.

She pads barefoot through his bedroom, pulling off her pajamas and dropping them on the floor beside his bed. The sudden cool air on her exposed skin makes her shiver, the cold contrasting sharply with the heat under her skin, and she swallows hard. Her heart is pounding in her chest. She eases the bathroom door open silently, slips inside and shuts it behind her. The shower's still running, but there's no other sound. He's not moving, not splashing. She can vaguely see his shape, blurred through the warped glass of the shower door, but he's facing away from her. Something's off. Something doesn't make sense.

She can't place it for a moment, until he lets out a soft groan, and then she understands what's missing. There's no steam. The shower's been on long enough; the air should be steamy.

The water's cold.

The realization hits her so hard she stops for a second. He wants her. He wants her badly.

She's ready to flee, duck out, grab her clothes, and go back to pretending she doesn't know what he's doing alone in his room. She's good at avoidance. Really, really good at it.

But just as she's about to turn, she steals another glance at him. Even through the blurry door, his body is distinctive. She can follow the broad lines of his shoulders, the contours of his back, the well-defined curve of his backside, the taut muscles of his legs. A wave of heat rushes through her. He's a tall man, a big man, with a body that can envelop her. Engulf her. Take her. She can lose herself. Completely.

Arousal flares, bright and hot, surging through her bloodstream like liquid fire. Her heart is hammering against her chest so hard it's almost painful. The words _The heart wants what the heart wants_ flicker through her mind, and her fists clench. Castle never leaves for good. To the point of driving her insane. He's messed up in the past. But he _comes back_.

She won't let him make her a coward.

She knows what she wants.

Kate takes the last step, grabs the handle, and opens the door to his shower.

His face when he turns around is a startled mixture of shock and disbelief and arousal. He sucks in a long breath. "Kate – "

He chokes out her name like it's painful, taking an instinctive step back, trying to put distance between them. His eyes rake over her naked body greedily, the blatant lust mesmerizing as he lingers at her chest. Her nipples are tight from the cold air, painfully hard, her whole body thrumming with barely controlled lust. It's the first time she's seen him undressed. He's powerfully built, water streaming over his muscular shoulders, his strong arms, the solid frame of his chest. The subtle contour of muscles into his groin. Her gaze flicks downwards. And she sees why he was standing in a cold shower. It wasn't working. Her whole body flushes hot in spite of the cold water. _Oh God, Castle…_

"Kate." His voice is strangled. He's studiously looking away from her now, his eyes locked on the wall. His hands are clenched tightly like he's afraid they're going to betray him. "Kate, if you don't leave right now –"

"Do you want me?"

Castle looks back at her, startled, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. She knew the answer long before she asked the question. And she made her choice the moment she opened her door.

Without breaking his gaze, she reaches for the shower knob, which is pointing to _Cold_. She turns it to _Hot_.

His eyes get wide, and she catches her breath, because his gaze is piercing, the softness flooded through with stormy darkness, and the last thing she thinks before he touches her is _No going back now._

But he doesn't kiss her. Not yet. Steam is clouding the shower stall as the water heats up, delicate billows curling over her skin, the air thick and heavy and dangerous. Her back hits the wall, his skin pressing flush against hers, and he touches her. Slowly. His fingers trace the lines of her cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the flush of her lips. She swallows, her hands flexing weakly on his shoulders as his lips follow the path of his fingers, continuing this slow, torturous, overwhelmingly erotic exploration of her face, the words he's not saying echoing in her mind. _You're mine_._All mine._

"Kate," he murmurs, his lips brushing her cheek, the heat of his breath permeating her whole being, curling under her skin.

"Don't stop," she sighs.

And then his mouth is on hers and she can't speak anymore.

Unlike his first touches, the tentative exploration of her skin (like he wasn't convinced she was really there), his kiss is anything but tentative. The dam is broken, the bridge is burned, and he's not holding back anymore. He devours her mouth almost roughly, his tongue dominating hers in a battle for control she's happy to let him win. He steps in closer and her shoulder blades and the flare of her tailbone press harder into the wall, her hands landing on his arms, fingers curling around them, feeling the taut muscles under the wet heat of his skin.

The steamy air is thick, hard to breathe; she has to suck it into her lungs. Her head spins, her skin buzzing with arousal as he slides one hand under her thigh, lifts her leg to wrap it around his waist, and she swallows, a little whimper escaping her at the sudden wet friction just where she wants it most. She wraps her legs around him, her thighs tightening, his tongue rough in her mouth as his hand slips between her legs. His fingers curl and she moans, arching helplessly against him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck as she clutches desperately at the slick wet skin of his shoulders. The hot water sluices over her skin in waves, scorching against the heated press of his skin on hers, and the tactile overload is almost too much. "Oh – oh _Castle_ – " she gasps, her voice cracking on his name as his fingers hit her in just the right spot and her eyes roll back at the haze of pointed pleasure.

When he finally, _finally_ slides into her, it's rough and gentle and perfect and deep and aching and sudden and so inevitable that her whole body shudders. He groans and she gasps, her thighs clenching desperately around him as she takes him in, her inner muscles stretching to hold him. His breath rushes hot and thready over her skin, and as she manages to come back to herself, he rocks his body into hers. She can't stop herself, her cries muffled into the wet skin of his neck, feeling the answering groan rumbling deep in his chest. He thrusts into her blindly, her body slipping against his as she moans, urging him on, her ankles locked behind him as her shoulder blades slam against the tiles behind her.

He chokes out her name in a voice deep and ragged, his hands on her hips tightening as his body rocks into her one last time. She comes completely undone, the tension and desire and years of waiting and wanting and imagining (and maybe loving) so overwhelming that she loses all control.

The orgasm hits her so hard she can hardly breathe, his name escaping her in a sob as she shudders. Her body flutters wildly as she comes, the spasm rolling through her bloodstream in a blinding rush, her heart racing. Her muscles slowly release around him, and she sucks in air, trying to breathe, to think.

And all the distance she's tried to put between them, the men she's feigned interest in, has just been her futile resistance to the inevitable.

She kisses his bare shoulder, feels the shudders that rock his body. _Castle_.

There's a moment, a breath that passes between them, and then his mouth is on hers, slow and deep and perfect and the promise of so much more (tonight and tomorrow and the day after and forever and ever), and she has no resistance left. None.

* * *

><p>Her body clock is still in the Eastern timezone, so in spite of how little sleep they got last night, Kate wakes up early.<p>

Castle's spooned up behind her, his arm, warm and heavy and possessive, slung over her waist. His breath floats gently over her skin. She lets herself rest for a moment, relaxing, her body exhausted and sated and glowing. She's still limp, still feeling the after-effects of their prolonged night of lovemaking.

Her mind is already awake, so though her partner is unmoving beside her, she decides to get up. As gently as possible, Kate slowly slips out from his arms. He's sound asleep; he twitches, lets out a breath, but doesn't wake up. She sits up and has to bite back a gasp. She's sore. Really, really sore. In places she hasn't been sore for a while. There are dark finger-shaped marks on her thighs. A love bite just under her left breast. That must have happened somewhere between the shower and the bed. Maybe the wall. It's all sort of blurred together. Her cheeks flush hotly. Oh, God. The things she did to him. The things she let him do to _her_. The begging. He made her beg.

She knew it would be like this, though. Even before she walked into his shower naked. As hard as she's tried to ignore it, she's known he wanted her. She's known since the first day. All it took was one choice. Now she knows she can't stop. She doesn't want to stop.

She needs to shower. She decides not to use his bathroom. Not that it isn't nice. Not that she's not very, very interested in seeing what else he can do to her in a shower. But right now she wants to breathe, wants to think, wants to make sure she knows what's going on.

A tiny part of her wants to slip under the covers and really wake him up, maybe spend another hour letting him pin her against his sheets and end up pinned against the wall of the shower again, but she reminds herself. _Kate. You barely got four hours of sleep. Go do your job. Plenty of time for that later._ Whatever – this – is, it doesn't change the reason she's here. She's here because someone is dead and someone needs to pay. Kate knows how to do her job. She can compartmentalize.

It strikes her as somewhat laughable that she's doing a twenty-foot walk of shame. And it would probably feel more legitimate if it weren't (technically) all his hotel room anyway.

In her bathroom, as she sets down her toothbrush, she takes a closer look in the mirror, and then tugs her hair back and dabs makeup carefully over the bright red mark on her throat.

* * *

><p>By the time Castle appears in the living room, all rumpled and sleepy in his white robe, she's showered, dressed, and absorbed in her work. She's established Ro- the victim's timeline and needs to figure out what to do next. She needs to –<p>

"Morning."

"Hey." Her concentration vanishes. Her mouth goes dry. Castle looks good. He looks delicious. Her whole body hums with want. She wants to pull off that robe, run her hands through his tousled hair, push him down onto the couch, and just forget everything else. Like they did last night.

Fighting against the shiver that runs through her, she drags her eyes back up to meet his and finds a look she wasn't expecting. Desire, of course – her cheeks get warm – but a little hesitance. She's always known there's more to him than the rakish ladies' man. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his robe, watching her carefully, his blue eyes bright. Perceptive. "Kate – I don't want to pretend last night didn't happen."

"I know."

A flicker of relief flashes over his face and his whole body relaxes, and Kate lets out a long breath. She doesn't regret what happened. His eyes soften, a smile starting to hover in the twist of his mouth. Castle takes a step towards her, and she sees his gaze, keen and observant, flick over the whiteboard before he looks back at her. He's the only person she's ever met who makes her feel completely exposed with a single look. He opens his mouth, pauses for a moment before speaking cautiously. "You – do you wanna talk about it?"

Oh, there are so many possible meanings for "it." She doesn't want to talk about any of them. Because she knows how each conversation will start but has no idea how any of them will end. She bites her lip, but – after all, she's the one who started this in the first place. "Eventually. Yeah."

"Eventually?" Apparently it's not the answer he was expecting. But his eyes are calm, and she knows he understands. She's not ashamed. She's not denying it. She just – doesn't know what to say other than _I'm a mess right now_ or We_slept together_ or _I liked it_or _It needs to happen again_. Or _I'm still thinking about what you look like naked._

"Right now – I just – I want to – "

_To hell with it_. She doesn't have to pretend she doesn't want this anymore. She needs more of him. She wants all of him.

Kate turns away from the whiteboard, pushes him down onto the couch, tossing her marker onto the chair nearby and climbing into his lap, straddling his hips as she tugs the sleeves of his robe down his arms and starts sucking on his neck.

His hands immediately come to her sides, sliding under her t-shirt, hot on her skin. He lets out a strangled laugh. "Oh – such a way to say good morning, Kate – "

She nips playfully at the line of his throat and he gasps, his hands tightening reflexively on her skin as his hips jerk roughly against hers. The rush of heady arousal swamps her veins, the delicious pleasure of being able to control his body so easily. Five seconds and he's putty under her hands.

She rolls her lower body against him slowly, shivering as he lets out a deep groan that rumbles through her chest. He pulls her closer, trapping her chest against his, kissing her hard and hot and overpowering, his tongue slipping wetly into her mouth. His hands curl over the curve of her rear, sliding into the back pockets of her jeans, and he rocks into her. She lets out a breathy sigh that gets caught in his mouth and runs her hands through his hair –

Just as she trails a hand over his stomach to tug at the waistband of his pants, there's a knock at the door. She freezes, startled, her eyes meeting his in a moment of panic. _Crap_.

She stumbles off of him, tugs her shirt down, runs a quick hand over her hair, and hurries to shove the whiteboard out of sight before Castle opens the door to Detective Seeger. Kate relaxes, sips the coffee she'd made earlier, and concentrates on projecting the appearance of a woman who is not hiding anything, does not have an outline of the murder on a whiteboard, is not disobeying direct orders, and did not spend most of last night moaning Castle's name in helpless abandon.

* * *

><p>Castle has been staring at her body in this swimsuit since the moment she stepped out of the pool, and once they get back to the hotel she intends to simply shower, change and call the detective. Really.<p>

She had pulled on a t-shirt over her suit, and she heads into her room, tugging it off over her head and picking up her phone. She calls the police station; Seeger's stepped out for just a second but they ask her to wait, he'll be right back.

As she waits, rubbing her neck absently, suddenly then there are hands sliding over her skin, and she bites her lip. Maybe she should have paid attention to see if Castle was going to follow her in here.

"I'm on the phone, Castle," she murmurs, trying in vain to bat away the hand that's tugging at the knot on her pareo.

"You're on hold," he points out. He manages to untie the knot and the fabric flutters to the floor. She swallows, her eyes flickering shut as he backs her up against the door, and then he's peeling the damp fabric off her skin and _oh_ she's letting him.

The suit hits the floor just as she hears an impatient "Hello?" over the phone. Crap. Seeger.

She manages to hold it together in spite of Castle, who will not stop sucking at her neck. She threads her free hand through his hair, biting her lip as she tries to focus on the phone.

"Can you – " she has to bite back a moan as his hand slips between her legs because they really, really shouldn't be doing this but it just feels _so good_ – "meet us here in an hour?"

"An hour?" The LA cop sounds a little frustrated, but she really doesn't care because she needs to get off (the phone) right _now_ because _fuck_ she is so frustrated right now and if she does not have Castle inside her _immediately_ she is going to explode.

"We'll have everything for you then."

Castle bites her ear, slides his fingers further. She presses her mouth to his shoulder to muffle the helpless noise she can't stop.

"Fine."

Seeger hangs up (oh _finally_). She throws her phone onto her bed and pulls Castle into the shower.

* * *

><p>By the time she manages to get dressed and dry her hair, he's collected his clothes and managed to regain some semblance of respectability. Probably a good thing. She's not sure how convincing she looks. Her body is still warm and glowing.<p>

* * *

><p>Sleeping with Castle only confuses things. This case is too important to mess up. She's managed to hold herself together, work like a machine. Her mind is keen, her instincts sharp, her concentration in the field strong. She pushes Royce's name to the back of her mind, replaces it with "the victim" when she has to, and chokes down emotions. It works. She's good at this.<p>

But every time the hotel room door closes behind them, something inside her snaps. She can't keep her hands off Castle. She keeps telling herself _Kate, stop, think, you need to_think_about this_, and she really means to. She does. But then the door clicks shut and her tongue is in his mouth and her hands are down his pants and before she can remember that she should think about this, she's naked and sweaty and moaning and he's inside her, biting her name into her collarbone.

It almost hurts when he looks at her because there's too much in his eyes. And his kisses are too tender, not enough like blind lust and far too much like something else, something much scarier. Sometimes she's afraid she's taking advantage of him. That he's just giving in out of pity. But the way he holds her when they're done, while the sweat dries and she tries to breathe, tells her otherwise. He holds her like he's been wanting this forever. He kisses her like it's all he's ever wanted to do.

Like she doesn't have scars and an entire warehouse full of baggage she's unloaded on him.

He kisses her like she's perfect.

That's why she can't stop.

* * *

><p>She almost shot Russell Ganz. She wanted to. She wanted to put a bullet between his eyes.<p>

But she didn't.

(She should feel good about it. She feels nothing.)

After an endless and numbing round of statements at the police station, Kate lets Castle drive them back to the hotel, and she sits silently in the passenger's seat, cheek pressed to her fist as she stares, unseeing, out the window. Ganz is done. He's finished. And he was the last thing Royce saw before he died.

There's no joy in the solution today. No win. She had lost before she even got to California. Royce is dead. She has no idea what kind of funeral arrangements there'll be. She doesn't know how to process any of it. She should feel sad. Or angry. Or vindicated. Or something. She just feels hollow. Her chest is empty and aching. She hasn't cried for him. She doesn't know how.

She lets Castle walk her up to their suite, follows him in, eats the dinner he orders, patiently answers the light questions he puts to her, tries to swallow food around the pain in her throat and chest and stomach. She feels disconnected, like she's still somewhere between here and the beach, or maybe between here and New York, or somewhere else she's not sure of. Her breathing is getting shallow.

She pulls it together, breathes through the tightness, follows obediently as Castle tugs her hand, pulls her into his bedroom. Her throat is closed so she says nothing. He undresses her carefully, drops her t-shirt and jeans on a chair and tugs one of his t-shirts over her head, and quickly pulls on his pajamas before pulling her into bed. She curls up on her side away from him, tucking herself into a ball, her eyelids fluttering rapidly. She wants to sleep. She wants it to go away. She wants – she's not sure. She doesn't know. It's all –

"Kate."

Her eyes start to sting, and she instinctively tries to swallow it away, blink her eyes dry, clench her teeth into silence. But then she feels his hand slide over her arm, gentle but firm, tugging her against him until she's in his arms, cradled against the warmth of his body, and she shuts her eyes but his fingers delicately map the shape of her face.

"Kate. You did the right thing. He'd be proud of you."

Royce's face appears in her mind's eye and she lets out a choking breath because it's over now, it's finished, but he's still gone and he's never coming back.

Castle holds her while she cries quietly for the friend she lost. She cries herself out and finally lets herself slump against him as he gently strokes her hair and presses a kiss to her forehead. He doesn't say anything, just lets her breathe.

She's exhausted and worn and wants nothing more than quiet right now, and it's only a few minutes before his even breathing and steady heartbeat under her cheek lull her to sleep.

When she wakes up, there's just a thin veil of pale early sunlight streaming into the room, shedding a hazy half-light in the dimly grey morning. She's limp, drained from crying. She feels cleaner. Empty. Purged.

A shiver runs through her as she feels the soft trail of fingers on her knee, sliding up her thigh, teasing and hot. He's already awake, then. "Castle – " her voice is thick with sleep, but her body is already responding to his touch, arousal uncurling hot and light and quick in her veins. "Castle – I don't – I'm so tired – "

She hums in helpless contentment as he kisses her throat, his tongue flicking over the curve of her jaw, his fingers tracing light circles on the soft skin of her inner thigh, just inches from giving her satisfaction, and already she's giving in, because damn it, he's so _good_ at this.

"Shhh, Kate. Just relax." He kisses her lips briefly. "Let me do the work."

Her thighs fall open around him and his hand slides easily under the band of her underwear. He's slow, and careful, and teasing, and she's writhing under his sure touch, gasping and panting and begging until finally, finally, she comes apart around him. She cries out, her back arching, every muscle taut and clenched with pleasure so overpowering it's almost painful. She collapses, her body sinking into the mattress, and all she can do is breathe dazedly as he wipes the sweat from her forehead and brushes her hair back. "God – Castle – " she manages between breaths.

"People _do_ tend to confuse the two of us," he replies cheekily, and she slaps at his arm weakly. She can hardly move.

He kisses her forehead and she turns toward him, tracing the plane of his stomach, the muscles under his t-shirt. She's weak and shaking and before she can stop it, the thought flutters through her mind, the blurry dazed glow of her orgasm shutting down the filter she's tried so hard to keep up:

_He's in love with me._

It's out before she can stop it, but there's no way it's not true. She knows. He loves her. And she's been silently denying the fact that she loves him for so long that not even she believes it any more.

Her whole body goes limp, and her eyes are suddenly stinging even though she doesn't want them to. He traces a gentle hand over the line of her cheek, and her eyes flicker shut. "You okay?"

"Mmmm." She…yeah, she _is_ okay. She wasn't. There's still an aching wound in her chest, a piece of her dark past that will never completely disappear. But right now it's not pushing through. The bitterness is gone. She feels clean. She's so utterly sated and exhausted that she never wants to leave this bed. And she never wants him to leave it, either. She doesn't want this to end.

_He's in love with me_.

"You want to get up?"

"Not really," she sighs, burying her face in a pillow.

He rubs her back gently, chuckling. "You sleep. I'll order breakfast."

She dozes off without realizing it and wakes up sometime later, confused for a moment when she sees the spot beside her empty. But then the bedroom door opens, and Castle brings her breakfast in bed, kissing her good morning as he hands her a cup of coffee. She takes the coffee with a smile, her heart twisting in her chest almost painfully. He's seen her naked. _Made_ her naked. Made her beg. But this – this is so much more.

"I have a meeting with the producers," he tells her, handing her a muffin, "so I'm heading over to the studio. I'll be back around noon." She nods, sipping coffee. Their flight doesn't leave till tomorrow. Castle didn't ask her; he just booked the tickets. She's grateful. She wants another day. She's not ready to go back to – to everything. And he understands.

He kisses her goodbye before leaving, making her heart hammer uncontrollably. How is it that they're, what, two days into this, and they're already at breakfast in bed and goodbye kisses? It's already too much. But she doesn't want to run. She doesn't want him to leave. She doesn't want to bury herself.

Kate takes a deep breath. Because she's been pretending she didn't know, but Castle was more or less her lover long before she ended up in his bed.

She's restless but doesn't have anything to do. Kate doesn't like having nothing to do. It gives her too much time to think. Right now that's hard to deal with. After eating, she heads down to the hotel pool. After a swim, then a walk, she finds herself tired – the lack of sleep from this week has finally caught up with her and she's feeling its full effect – and after stopping at a bookstore and picking up a copy of _Girl With A Pearl Earring_ (she's been meaning to read it for ages but never gotten around to it), she goes back to the hotel, where she curls up in her bedroom and reads until she falls asleep.

* * *

><p>When she wakes up, Castle's sprawled beside her, snoring gently, one arm behind his head. She smiles sleepily, turning on her side to face him. Castle looks younger when he's asleep. The lines in his face are smoothed out, his hair gently ruffled, his mouth pursed.<p>

She sets the book on the nightstand and reaches out to trace the line of his cheek, her palm flattening gently against his jaw. He hums, twitches slightly, but doesn't wake. Kate smiles, her fingers trailing over the crown of his forehead, smoothing his hair. It's soft under her fingertips, silkier than she'd always thought it would be.

He sighs and mumbles something in his sleep, instinctively reaching for her. She lets him steal an arm around her and tug her closer to his side, and she dozes off again feeling his breath warming her skin.

* * *

><p>He takes her out to dinner that night, their last night before the clock strikes twelve and the palm trees and swanky hotel in LA get replaced with the metal and concrete of New York. She's quiet. He doesn't push her. He's quiet tonight, too. They spend dinner watching each other over the rims of their wineglasses, and between the wine and the way he's looking at her – like he's hungry and it's not for food – by the time they're finished, her face is flushed and her body is humming with anticipation.<p>

After dinner, then a limo ride she spends in his lap with his hand up her skirt, they end up in Castle's hot tub.

She spent dinner running her foot up his leg and the ride back to the hotel getting more and more frantic, biting down on his shoulder to muffle her cries as he got her closer and closer but never quite finished. But now he takes his time. Now it's slow. Languid. Overwhelming. She's reduced to helpless whimpers, clutching at his shoulders as he rocks into her slowly.

Later – much later – they end up in his bed, and Kate's convinced there's no more. He can't possibly make her feel more. She's already lost all control.

And then he pins her arms above her head and his eyes lock with hers. She can't look away, can't breathe, can't blink, and maybe this started in desperation but it's something else now and she's never _ever_ felt so vulnerable and her whole body quakes and her heart hammers and her nerve endings are on fire and he hits her right there and _again_ and _again_ and _oh God oh God yes_ –

She lets out startled cry, her eyes widening with pleasure, never breaking his gaze as she comes apart, her fists clenching under his grasp. He follows, a deep groan escaping him as he tightens and spills into her.

He collapses onto her, his body heavy and warm and sweaty, his breath coming hard and fast. Kate blinks, taking deep breaths, feeling the press of his ribs against hers. He finally stirs enough to roll off of her. _I love you_ is caught in her throat and she kisses him, her hand curling around his neck, her heart twisting hard in her chest.

* * *

><p>Castle hands Seeger the robe (she has to admit, Castle's right; the robes are incredibly soft) and she smiles. <em>Only Castle<em>.

Seeger leaves, shaking his head in amusement at his fluffy new acquisition, and Kate finds herself lost in thought, staring into nothing. Three days. Three days and everything has changed. Three days and they're lovers.

Three days and she's in love.

And she was about to say it.

"So how close did you come?"

(The words were on her lips.)

"- with Ganz."

A soft breath escapes her. _Oh_. The other thing. The first thing that turned the world upside down.

"Let's go home, Castle."

He doesn't comment on her choice of words, the fact that _home_ means so much and yet neither one knows exactly what it is right now. _Let's go home_ is what lovers say. Spouses. Old married couples. The word _home_ slips through her mouth like water, cool and fresh and simple and yes, maybe she could drown, but with Castle, she has the sneaking suspicion, she just might be able to float.

* * *

><p>They stop at the front desk on their way out. Maurice gives them a knowing smile. "Mister Castle. Miss Beckett. I trust you had a pleasant stay?"<p>

Kate just smiles. Castle shakes Maurice's hand. "Everything was perfect, Maurice. Thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it." (There's a sparkle in Maurice's eyes, and Kate's a little suspicious…) "Perhaps on your next stay, you _will_ be interested in the couples massage?"

She flushes, stealing a glance at Castle, who (surprisingly) looks a little taken aback. Her lips curl into a smile. Why deny it? "That sounds perfect."

* * *

><p>Somewhere above the Midwest, Castle wakes up, swallowing a weird taste in his mouth, blinking his bleary eyes. He doesn't usually sleep much on planes. Of course, he doesn't usually get so little sleep –and so much exercise – on trips.<p>

There's soft warm pressure against his right arm, and he turns. Kate's asleep, leaning into him. Her long hair falls over her face, fluttering a little with the slow steady rhythm of her breathing. He brushes it back, his hand lingering on her cheek, and his heart swells as she turns instinctively into the warmth of his touch.

His kisses her forehead, laces his fingers through hers, and shuts his eyes again.


	2. 1x01, Flowers For Your Grave

**Fuck Me, Castle: Stop And Stare**

* * *

><p>She's watching Tisdale getting prepped for transport as she focuses on breathing to calm the adrenaline still coursing through her body, when she hears the obtrusive throat-clearing behind her. Of course. She knows it's Castle before she even turns around. He's watching her expectantly with those penetrating blue eyes. He needs to shave. He's scruffy, his jaw peppered with rough stubble.<p>

He looks good.

She forces that thought aside. Mostly. "Well. Guess this is it."

Castle blinks innocently, his eyes hopeful. "It doesn't have to be. We could, uh – go to dinner. Debrief each other."

'Debrief.' Really. "Why, Castle? So I can be another one of your _conquests?_"

"Or I could be one of yours."

She's half a second away from telling him _have a nice life, playboy_. But she has the strangest feeling that she might be the first woman in a long, long time that Rick Castle has asked out with such a pathetically failed attempt at game.

And oddly, she finds that appealing.

Kate bites her lip, notices the way his eyes immediately fix on her mouth, and leans in to whisper in his ear. She's not teasing him. She's just –

- well. Maybe she's teasing him a little.

"Call you when I'm done for the day."

She turns on her heel and walks away before he can respond. There's lightness in her gait, energy in her step, and she's full of the deliciously risky sense that this is going to really be _something_.

Besides. She has a feeling Richard Castle's 'conquests' probably have a pretty good time.

* * *

><p>Kate finally finishes with her after-action paperwork around eight. She's exhausted. And grumpy. Castle's antics meant an entire series of reports she had to fill out explaining why a civilian was held at gunpoint. She was half-tempted to write <em>The Idiot Who Does Not Listen<em> under _Name Of Civilian_.

She finishes. Pulls out her phone. Considers. Normally when she's this tired, she collapses onto her couch with Chinese and watches bad TV until she falls asleep. She doesn't really want to go on a date. Particularly if it means wearing a skirt.

Well, she's still in the utterly un-sexy clothes she was wearing when he asked her out. He can deal with it. She sighs and calls him, mostly because she knows if she doesn't call him, he'll do something even worse, like come to her apartment and refuse to leave until she agrees to go with him to dinner or a movie or Acapulco or something.

She desperately hopes he won't pick up. Naturally, he answers after the first ring. "Detective. Lovely to hear from you."

She can't help but smile. He's so offensively happy. "Hey, Castle. Sorry it took so long. I just finished."

"So are you prepared for the most superior evening of your life?" He sounds way too cheerful. She'd be irritated even if he weren't her favorite author. Whose picture she's been seeing on book jackets for years now, without realizing that he's, well, not hard on the eyes but so _annoying_ in person.

"Honestly, I'm kind of tired."

"Oh." He sounds downcast for a second. "No, I should have realized. Of course. Well. Superior can be relaxing. I can do that. Something low-key? I know just the place."

Kate finds herself saying _yes_ before she really knows it, and she'd hate him for it but he's just so disgustingly _charming_.

* * *

><p>She'd been worried he might take her to some ridiculous, over-the-top restaurant with snooty waiters and overpriced champagne and wretchedly awful decorations and stupidly fancy food, all in a lavish attempt to impress her.<p>

Instead, he takes her to a quiet little Italian restaurant, a place where he greets the owners by name and they get a private table near the back. The food is perfect, the wine is good, and he surprises her: he's actually pleasant to talk to.

"So. Favorite color," he prods.

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "What do _you_ think it is?"

That makes him grin. She likes that about him. Not that she'd ever, ever _ever_ admit to it, of course. But he gets that look on his face when he's intrigued, that boyish eagerness, a mesmerizing sparkle in his blue eyes. He likes mysteries, she can tell. And he's so different, so easy to talk to when he's trying to solve them. His public relations team might love to cast him as a suave playboy, but without their filter, he's less…deliberately charming.

More appealing, really.

He fixes her with a mock-serious look. "So. Kate Beckett's favorite color. This is going to take some serious investigation."

"Is it, now."

"Absolutely." He brushes his hand over hers, the touch just light enough to make her suck in a startled breath. His voice is low. Intimate. "I am fully prepared to interrogate you. Thoroughly, Kate."

Her body gets hot. She has a few ideas about how he can interrogate her. And from the dangerous, hungry look in his eyes, she has a feeling he's thinking exactly the same thing right now.

Their waiter chooses that moment to interrupt, and Kate gets a chance to breathe. Castle's smooth, flashing his affable smile, consulting Kate's opinion on the wine, and that's a bit more the Castle she'd come to expect. Calm. Charming. Totally pulled together. He gives no indication that just seconds ago, he was looking at her like he wanted to drag her into the bathroom, push her up against the door and show her just how good he could make her body feel.

The waiter leaves again, and she sits back in her chair. He's watching her silently, his eyes raking over her, and finally she can't handle the quiet anymore. "What?"

"You fascinate me."

That's not what she was expecting. "What do you mean?"

"You're frustrating. You're a study in contradictions." He ticks off points on his fingers. "Just a few things I've noticed. You don't like me – you've made that clear – but you're here in spite of that. You tell your colleagues you can't stand me, but you flirt with me. And I've been pretty damn straightforward about the fact that I'm interested in you, but you act like I'm not worth your time. Even though I _know_ you've read my books."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" He's not exactly wrong about any of it. He drives her up a wall. But she wants him.

Castle fixes her with a penetrating gaze, one that makes her feel so totally exposed that she's half afraid he can hear her thoughts. And then his mouth curves into a smile. "Not really. You're a mystery, Kate Beckett. I want to figure you out."

She swallows. No one's ever told her anything like that before. "You might be disappointed. I'm not terribly exciting."

"I don't think that's true." He grins. "For one thing, you're gorgeous but you don't seem to have figured it out yet." His smile widens as she feels her cheeks burning under his gaze. "And I think somewhere, deep down, you still have a wild thing inside you. Even if you've changed. You're not as much of a risk-taker. Maybe you were once. But you like to play it safer now, at least on the surface."

She smiles mildly, trying to ignore her pounding heart. "Nicely done, Mr. Castle. Very observant. But you're wrong about one thing."

He scoffs. "Am not."

"Oh, yes. If I were completely risk-averse, I wouldn't be here with you, would I?"

He stares at her, his eyes wide. "Do you know how hot it is to hear you say words like _averse?_"

She bites her lip (she's noticed he seems to like when she does that) and leans in, her eyes flicking over his face teasingly. "You should hear me say _fallacious_."

He swallows hard, his eyes going dark, and he's staring at her mouth so pointedly it makes her flush. He's interested. Regardless of her utilitarian shirt and plain shoes and utter lack of sex appeal. This playboy, this womanizing charmer, is really, really interested.

By the time they get to dessert, she sidesteps his attempt to feed her a bite of his tiramisu (because honestly, that's so utterly predictable). But she lets a few soft noises escape her mouth as she eats her own dessert. And she does _accidentally_ slip off a shoe and drag her bare foot over the side of his calf. He drops his spoon, his head snapping up, and the look he gives her is absolutely _filthy_ and she knows that right now he's thinking about the dirtiest things he could possibly do to her on this table.

And she just cannot get over the fact that right now, she's got her favorite author at a total loss for words.

* * *

><p>Castle holds the door for her as they leave and takes the opportunity to slide his hand over her back, just a hint too low to be misunderstood. She shudders.<p>

"It's either blue or purple, isn't it?"

She blinks, her heart stuttering as she realizes what he means. "Wha-"

"I knew it." His eyes are dancing. "Don't worry. I'll narrow it down from there."

He insists on sharing a cab to go back to her place ("You've had wine, Beckett. I would never want to leave you alone on the mean streets where some unscrupulous man could take advantage of you."). She rolls her eyes but decides to let him. And spends the entire ride digging her teeth into her lip to stop any incriminating noises from escaping as he slowly trails his fingers higher and higher up her thigh. She clenches her fists against the worn seat of the taxi, swallowing hard as his touch gets more and more teasing because it is so wrong and such a bad idea and they really shouldn't but it feels so _good_.

The cab pulls over in front of her building, and Castle's hand is suddenly gone, leaving her flushed and frantic and so _needy_.

To hell with it.

She takes a deep breath and turns to him. "You want to come up?"

* * *

><p>The elevator doors open on her floor and they stumble out, a tangle of groping hands and hot breaths and muffled moans.<p>

Kate manages to tug him towards her door, finally pulling her mouth away from his long enough to grab her keys and reach for the doorknob. He crowds close behind her, nuzzling her throat with soft wet kisses, biting lightly at her skin. His tongue starts tracing a hot, wet line over her ear, his hands fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. It takes her three tries to get her key in the door.

They stagger inside and he shuts the door with her body, pinning her back against it roughly as he gets his hands under her shirt. She manages to kick off her boots, immediately losing a few inches, leaving her on her toes as he assaults her neck, nipping at her skin and soothing the bites with his tongue. He slides a hand under her thigh and drags it over his leg, rocking his hips into hers, giving her hot pressure right where she needs it.

She silently thanks the universe that he's turned away from her bookshelves right now, because she does _not_ want him seeing his name all across her library while he's _oh_ sucking on her neck and _oh_ –

She shoves him back onto her old couch and straddles his hips, swallowing whatever teasing remark he was about to make (something like _a little eager, are we?_). He doesn't seem to mind. Her hips sink deeper into his, and she grins. Oh, he _really_ doesn't seem to mind.

And hardly surprising, Castle decides to stop kissing her long enough to talk. "So are we just going to – "

"Stop talking."

"Oh, you're bossy," he grins, sliding his hands up her thighs. "I like that."

"Shut _up_," she hisses, biting his lip hard enough to make him flinch.

And it's so fast then, his rough hands yanking her shirt off her shoulders. She gets impatient and tears his, buttons skittering off into the corners. She can feel the short laugh that escapes him, but she doesn't care. Because she cannot _stand_ him and he's just so _hot_ and he's so _irritating_ and she is so _totally_ getting off on riding Richard Castle's lap in the middle of her living room. Her mouth gets dry. She can feel him pressing firmly between her legs, even through layers of clothes, and as his hips jerk up into hers he lets out a strangled groan, a deep rumble in his chest that vibrates under her skin.

He strips off her clothes as she yanks off his and it's the hottest wrestling match she's ever had because they're _naked_ and he's devouring her mouth and palming her breasts and when he slips his fingers between her legs and _curls _them she lets out a choked cry because _fuck_ he's so good at this, so good, and then his thumb slips over her and her back arches and she moans into his neck, her body seizing up in a white-hot spasm of blissful release.

When she stops trembling, leans into his frame, lifts herself and sinks onto him, she gasps, clutching at his shoulders, breathing in hard, trying to adjust. It's been a while. And he's – he's not small.

His hands slide down her back, over the curve of her rear, bringing her forward, the change in angle sending sparks shooting through her body, her thighs tightening reflexively around his waist. A string of helpless noises is escaping her but _oh fuck_ she does not _care_ and she threads her hands through his hair and rocks into him blindly.

He waits for her breathing to even out and then matches her rhythm, his hips rising into hers. He slides his hand over her, and she's already so wound up it only takes a push of his thumb for her to finish, clenching around him so tightly she can't breathe.

He's there too, his movements jerky, uncontrolled, and then he finally lets go, choking out _oh fuck_ as he comes inside her, his grip on her thighs so tight she's afraid it'll bruise.

She slumps in his lap, panting, her head spinning because she just fucked Richard Castle on her living room couch and it was so unbelievably _good_.

* * *

><p>They end up staggering into her bedroom, her legs wrapped around his waist, his tongue tracing the corners of her mouth. He throws her onto the bed, and if she thought it was a fluke the first time, the <em>second<em> time he gets her writhing and moaning his name convinces her that there's really, really something here.

The third time is starting to border on gratuitous.

But she's not complaining.

* * *

><p>He's clingy.<p>

She wakes to find him wrapped tightly around her, his arms encircling her waist, one of her legs tucked between his. It's different. She'd gotten so used to sleeping alone. And she's never been accustomed to cuddling. Most of the guys she's been with weren't cuddlers.

It takes some effort to untangle herself without waking him. Once she's managed to reclaim her limbs, she pauses to look back at her sleeping companion. Castle's in her bed. _Richard Castle_ is in her bed. He's sprawled loosely across it, his face half-buried in a pillow. He looks younger when he's asleep. And he's so much less annoying when he's not using his mouth.

Or when he's…using it for things other than talking.

She crawls out of bed – _oh_, that's a twinge she hasn't felt in a while – and looks for something to put on. Right. Their clothes are still in her living room. All over the floor. In various states of disrepair. Her face gets hot. She can't remember the last time she needed it so badly she couldn't even get to the bedroom at first. They barely got there for round two. And she's never going to be able to look at her couch again without blushing.

There's a rustling from the other side of the bed. "Kate? What time 'sit?" His voice is rough, thick with sleep, low and husky. She bites her lip, trying to ignore the heat that sizzles through her body. He looks delicious.

"Go back to sleep." Rich, pampered writer-boy probably isn't used to waking up this early. He can sleep till she has to leave, at least.

"Why – hold on." He fumbles, finally manages to turn on a lamp, and she turns back to find him sitting up in bed, her sheets pooling around his waist as he rubs his face.

"It's early, Castle. Go back to sleep."

"Why are you up?" He blinks sleepily. "And why are you calling me _Castle _when we just – "

"I have a job, Castle. I have to get ready for work."

"No. Come on. Come back to bed."

"Castle – "

He manages to catch her hand and tugs her back in spite of her half-hearted protests. "Let me persuade you."

Even as she's trying to say _no _– well, she's considering trying to say it – he's growling, pulling her back into bed. He rolls her over, trapping her under the weight of his body and pinning her wrists above her head. She flips him easily onto his back, rolling her body down against his _slowly_, watching his eyes glaze over as she straddles him and then he's pulling her down and his tongue slips into her mouth and her eyes roll back as she gasps and why exactly was she trying to tell him _no, _again?

* * *

><p>She gets to work late.<p>

Wearing a turtleneck.


	3. 1x10, A Death In The Family

All my love to Cartographicals and Sandiane Carter for editing this chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Fuck Me, Castle: 1x10, A Death In The Family<strong>

_Castle, you touch my mom's case and you and I are done.  
><em>_Do you understand?_

"It's about your mother's case."

He knew before he said it. He knew what would happen. But that still doesn't prepare him for the sick twist in his chest, the horrible heaviness that overtakes his body as her eyes go wide. Stricken. For a split second, she looks devastated, like a wounded child, and he hates what he's doing. Because it may be right, but that doesn't mean it won't destroy her.

As quickly as it appeared, the brief glimpse of her vulnerable side vanishes, her face falling back into a mask. Her eyes narrow. Kate is gone. This is Beckett.

"Beckett, please, I just - "

She hits him.

And it's Beckett, so it's no girly slap. He stumbles backwards, clutching blindly at his cheek. It's burning. Hot pain sears his face, and as he blinks he's pretty sure he can feel warm wetness dripping from his nose. He glances at his hand. Bloody. Shit.

"I know I deserved that."

"You _asshole_." Her face is dark, twisted in anger and pain.

"Look. I'm sorry. Will you – "

"You're _sorry?"_ she hisses, her eyes colder than he's ever seen them.

"Will you please just let me – Beckett! Stop!" She turns on her heel before he can finish, striding down the hallway even faster than she usually does. He hastens to follow. "Please, just let me explain – "

She steps into the elevator and jabs at the close button. The doors start to slide shut. She won't even look at him.

It's not like it can get worse.

Ignoring the nurse nearby asking if he needs his nose cleaned up, he catches the elevator doors before they shut, sliding in beside her. She looks up, startled, her eyes blazing. "Get _out_."

"No." He presses the button and the doors close, effectively trapping him in a small area with a woman who just bloodied his nose and looks like she wants to do it again. Or worse. "Beckett. I'm sorry. I didn't know– "

"You had _no right_," she seethes. Her jaw is clenched tight. She's holding herself together, and for all the times she's glared at him, this is new. This is Kate Beckett truly furious, so livid she doesn't trust herself around him. And it's his fault - he couldn't hide it from her - but is this any better? It eases his conscience, but it's destroying her.

"I was going to drop it, Beckett. When you told me to. I was going to put it away."

That startles her. She flicks a glance at him, still angry, but there's a spark in there. She wants to know. He knows her. She needs this.

"Then why didn't you?"

It might be his only way to hold on to her. Besides. He already started.

"Because I found something."

* * *

><p>It's dead silent all the way back to his loft.<p>

Castle sneaks a quick glance at her as they glide through traffic. She's sitting up straight, fists on the wheel, face blank. Unreadable. Icy. It's not that he hasn't seen her self-control – it astonishes him, her capacity for compartmentalizing – but this is far beyond her usual composure. This doesn't make sense. It's not right. At first, she was so angry that she hit him. Now she's cold and silent. Beckett is fierce, unyielding. She's a tigress. Not this frozen creature, this hollow-eyed shadow that won't even look at him. She's – wounded.

Oh God. This is a reaction. A victim's reaction. She's withdrawing. She's curling up to protect herself.

(From the case? Or from him?)

* * *

><p>She follows him silently into his loft, into his office, and waits, arms folded, as he opens his safe, pulls out the folder that looks too harmless for the devastation its contents have caused, and holds it out. She hesitates for a second before reaching to take it.<p>

Her hands are shaking.

That's when it hits him.

This isn't her wanting to see what he found. This isn't her deciding she wants to work it together. This isn't her in control. This is her unable to escape. She can't stop. He's dragged her back into this and she doesn't have the strength to stop herself. It's going to tear her apart again.

His blood goes cold. He thought this could be a project they could tackle. A team effort. But this? This is going to kill her. He's watching her walk towards it because she can't resist. Not because it's good for her.

_This_ is what she meant when she told him to drop it.

He should never have done this.

"Beckett. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_." His lungs are tight in his chest and he feels like he's suffocating. "Please. You were right. I'll let it go. I'll stop."

She's still clutching the folder in unsteady hands, and he reaches for it, but she pulls it back.

"Beckett, please – "

"You can't - you can't - " she's breathing in short gasps - "don't do this - "

_Don't do this to me_ is what he hears and it makes him feel hollow inside because he _already did this to her_.

"This isn't right," he pleads with her, his voice breaking. "You know it isn't right."

He pulls the folder from her hands but she doesn't give it up easily, curling her fingers around his wrist, refusing to let go as he slips the file back onto his desk. She's leaning on him heavily, her chest heaving, face white, and his heart cracks into a thousand pieces when he sees the sparkle in her eyes, the gleaming trails down her cheeks. She's crying. He made her cry. All he meant to do was help her, and now she's crying.

He kisses her.

It's as much to stop her as anything. She freezes, her whole body tense against him, taut and trembling like a bird, like she's going to escape. He doesn't let her go. He won't pull away. He can't pull away. Not when she's so close to breaking and it's his fau-

Like a switch was flipped, everything changes, the energy in her body suddenly hot, and she grabs his shoulders and throws herself into his body. She bites his lower lip. It stings. He tastes coppery blood on his tongue. He slumps back onto his desk, trying to breathe as she forces her tongue between his lips and practically climbs up his body in her desperation.

He knows this is bad. He knows they need to stop. She's vulnerable right now, reeling from the pain he caused her, caught up in a storm of fear and grief and anger and pain and he cannot take advantage of a woman so emotionally fucked up, he can't, he _can't_.

But she's vicious. He tries to grab her wandering hands, pull away from her hot mouth, push her gently off his lap. She growls, digs her fingers into his shoulders, her breath washing hot over his face, clouding his mind. Shit. Shit, she's not letting go. His body reacts even as he begs it not to, hot desire flooding his veins, burning under her rough touch. She bites his earlobe, her hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer, and her lips brush over his cheek as she hisses into his ear.

"Don't you _dare_ stop me."

Her body presses into him, lithe and thrumming with hot energy and he _knows_ it's so very wrong. But is this what she wants, this - this outlet? Is she even thinking right now, or is she just trying to escape? She's - oh, shit, he wants her, he wants her so badly, but -

He already hurt her too much to deny her. He can't tell her no.

He doesn't want to stop.

It's at once selfish and selfless as he groans into her mouth, desperate to wipe the sorrow and anger from her face, erase the darkness in her eyes. And this is their first time - it should be tender, or sweet, or _something_ other than savage and hopeless. But she bites his lip and devours his mouth and he's too far gone to stop her now.

He manages to pull himself off his desk but she grabs him before he can react, pushing and fighting and dragging him until her back hits the door of his bedroom. She gets her pants off before he realizes what she's doing. She's impatient, all heat and anger and pure wanton _need_ and when her naked hips roll against his he can't think, can't breathe as she yanks his belt buckle, almost tears the zipper off his pants, shoves his boxers down, and then fuck fuck _fuck_ her hand closes around him and he almost dies right there because _shit_ this shouldn't -

It's rough and hard and there's nothing tender about it, his fingers digging into her thighs as he lifts her and sinks into her with a deep, shuddering groan. She chokes out something guttural into his neck, her fingers clenched so tightly in his hair he grits his teeth because _fuck_ this is not supposed to happen but she's so _wet_ and moaning and her heels are digging into his legs and nothing else is right and fuck it just feels so _good_.

Her face is buried in his neck as he thrusts into her messily. He can't see her. Her fingers claw into his back, her mouth open against his skin as she whimpers and swears. His mouth is dry and his body is on _fire_ and he's so turned on it hurts and he can't stop can't stop -

His trembling fingers slide over her skin, down her stomach, between her legs. His thumb slips over her once and she lets out a keening cry, her hips tipping into his, and he's getting black spots in his vision but he clenches his teeth and works over her with his fingers, come on, come _on_.

He feels the hitch in her breath, the tautness in her body, the way she clenches around him and he groans, thrusts into her _hard_. She comes apart on a long moan, her body shuddering against his, the shock of her heat enveloping his brain, hazy and tortured and he just _fuck_. He comes seconds later, sweaty, spent, one hand still gripping her thigh tight enough to bruise.

There's a long moment of silence broken only by strangled, shallow breathing. He lets go of her leg, tries to back up, give her space, cover himself. Her pants are crumpled on the floor, her panties twisted around one ankle. Her face is streaked with tears and smudged eyeliner. She's a mess.

Words are cluttering his mind, useless buzzing clouds of words he can't say because she doesn't want to hear any of them. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you._ He's choking on the _I love you_ that's lodged in his throat because he shouldn't say it, can't say it, doesn't even know _why_ it's all but spilling from his mouth, knows all it will do is hurt her more and what the hell is _wrong_ with him -

She's slumped back against the door, her face in her hands.

Oh fuck, she's crying.

She's crying _again_.

He's just making one mistake after another today.

He's so horribly desperate to fix it, to apologize, but he knows if he says _I'm sorry_ right now she will walk out that door and never come back. If he tries to touch her he doesn't know what she'll do.

She swallows hard, wipes her eyes as if he can't tell she's been crying. She doesn't look at him. "Can I use your bathroom?"

* * *

><p>The thought of making her walk through his bedroom to the master bath makes him a little sick inside. It's too much. He can't. He points her toward the bathroom just off the living room.<p>

He goes to the kitchen sink himself, splashes some cold water on his face. Leans on the counter. Shuts his eyes. Shit. All he wanted to do was fix this. Instead they fucked against his bedroom door. He didn't even get her clothes off. Fuck. Fuck, that was _not_ -

He grits his teeth, hating himself so much for the raw desire still burning in his skin. It was so _wrong_ but he just couldn't help himself, not with her frantic and desperate and rough like that. He shouldn't have - but he didn't want to stop, and she didn't want to stop, and it was just too much, too fast. Dammit.

He glances at the clock. Still a few hours before Alexis gets home from school. They still have some time. They could talk, or - well, he doesn't know what else to do other than talk, but at least this way -

He hears footsteps in the living room and turns around to find Beckett. She's dressed. Pulled together. Her eyes are red, the lines of her cheekbones sharp under the lights. Her arms are wrapped around her stomach. She finally meets his gaze, and she looks so close to tears it takes all his willpower not to pull her into his arms and kiss her soft mouth until she doesn't want to cry anymore. "I'm gonna go."

"Are you - you don't have to - " He's fumbling, stupid, has no idea what to say, but there are so many trite inane words clogging his throat, and maybe this is better because if she doesn't leave soon he's going to blurt out something like _I love you_ and that might be the worst possible thing he could do. Even if it feels suspiciously like it's been building up, pressing against his chest ever since she quietly said _It was my mother. Not my father_.

"I just - I need some time, Castle."

Her voice is soft. The edge is gone. His breath catches in his throat at the gentleness, the intimacy. His fingers curl around the line of the counter to keep them from reaching for her. _You hurt her, Rick. You have no right_.

She swallows. Bites her lip. "I'll call you, okay?"

He nods, watching her walk away. She opens the door, and she's almost out when he just can't stop the words anymore.

"Kate," he blurts out, hating himself. She turns around. "I never meant to hurt you." She falters for a second, her eyes wide. He swallows. "I was stupid. And misguided. But I didn't do it to hurt you. I - " he sucks in a painful breath - "I just wanted to help you."

He's not even sure exactly which part of it he's apologizing for.

Maybe all of it.

She lets out a long breath, and for a second she looks like a child, shy and vulnerable and too young for any of this.

Shit. Shit. He loves her. He shouldn't. But he does.

"I know, Castle."

The door shuts behind her.


	4. 1x4, Hell Hath No Fury

Thanks to my doves Cartographical and Sparklemouse for editing this and talking me out of my usual episodes of _I can't do this_ and _Why am I writingggggggggg_.

This is set mid-episode. It's late; Beckett's alone at the precinct. She hears the tempting siren song of Castle's brand-new espresso machine. And we begin.

* * *

><p><strong>Fuck Me, Castle: 1x4, Hell Hath No Fury<strong>

_You have something against foamy richness?_

_Yeah. It annoys me._

Late night, again. The quiet of a virtually abandoned bullpen. It's lonely, but Kate likes the stillness. She can think more clearly.

Well, she usually can. But right now she's tired, the irritating kind of tired where her mind wants to keep working but she keeps losing her train of thought. She needs caffeine.

That stupid, _stupid_ espresso machine. Stupid –

- but it's espresso.

Castle. Castle and his constant need for excess.

His coffee. Good coffee.

But...but...

Oh, to hell with it. There's no one else here.

She goes to the break room.

The machine is big and shiny and confusing, at least initially. But she was watching when Castle operated it earlier (not that she would _ever _admit to it), and she quickly gets it running, humming and bubbling and steaming perfectly.

Coffee is her great vice, the thing she knows she consumes to excess. Kate justifies it by telling herself it's a necessary evil - it is, sometimes, during those cases she stops sleeping and coffee essentially replaces her blood - and to be fair, the terrible precinct coffee makes it easy to keep herself honest. She drinks it out of sheer physical need.

But _Castle's_ coffee –

Oh, it smells so good. It's rich and hot and fragrant and so utterly distracting that she just can't tell herself no. And it's not a big deal. It's just one –

"Hi!"

The cup clatters on the grate as she jerks her hand away, as if she could somehow hide what she was just doing. "Hi!" Damn it to _hell_, does he ever _leave?_

"I had a thought."

She swallows, settling back against the counter, desperately trying to hide the spilled coffee, the evidence of her moment of weakness.

And as if it all weren't enough, his theory is actually a good one. Their victim's widow came from money; she financed her husband's first campaign. Might he have gone back to the family money when he got blackmailed? Where else would he have gotten it?

It's good. It's smart.

Damn it. Damn Castle, and his stupid coffee and his stupid _theories_ and - and - he smells good. He smells so good. And there's a nagging voice in the back of her head that sounds far too much like Lanie, a voice that keeps hissing _Take it from me, girlfriend. You need some fun_.

He's finished talking and he's watching her expectantly, and he's already standing too close, and she can't stop staring at those big blue eyes of his. She takes a breath, forces her mind back on point. "You think he - uh, she knew about the affair."

"That's what I figured." He grins, that pleased, satisfied look he gets when he's onto something.

"Great." Is there a reason he didn't just call her with this brilliant idea? Why does he constantly have to be here?

"So." His eyes are sparkling. She gets a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Trying my coffee, were you?"

"No." It's a reflex. It's instinctive and too quick and just makes him smirk. No, no no.

"Oh, I think you are. Indulging in some foamy richness?" He takes a step forward and that's bad, he was already standing too close, and at this range he smells absolutely delicious.

"Shut up." Her face is burning. Dammit. _Dammit_.

"You like it like that? Hot and strong?" Shit, _shit_, oh it shouldn't do this to her but the way he says it, and that look on his face - oh, it works for her. That low voice, growly, suggestive, oh it's too much. Her body is thrumming with heat.

She flicks a glance up at him that should really be a glare but doesn't quite succeed. It's a mistake. He's staring at her mouth, his lips parted, his blue eyes so deep and focused that she feels pinned.

"Castle - "

He leans in, so close that he's speaking into her mouth, just a fraction of an inch away, his warm breath painting her skin. "You want a taste, Beckett?"

His lips brush hers when he whispers her name and then he's kissing her.

It's better than coffee.

There's no uncertainty, no hesitation. He walks her backwards and her hips hit the counter, and the breath she lets out gets lost in his mouth as his hands come to her skull, tangling in her hair. His tongue traces over the seam of her lips, aggressive, all heat and impatience, and she opens to him, a soft sigh escaping her as she slides her arms around his neck.

Castle leaves her mouth and trails kisses along her jaw. His fingers slip under her shirt, trailing up the curve of her spine and she arches into him, heat and delicious friction building at the contact. Her skin is hot, so unbearably hot, burning under his fingers and she can't help herself, rocking her hips into his, groaning into his mouth at the hot pressure between her legs. She can already feel him. Shit. Too much, too good.

Her hand trips over the fabric of his shirt, and she hooks her fingers in his belt. He gasps, finally pulling away from her long enough to catch her gaze, and she swallows. There's a question in his eyes.

It's a terrible idea, beyond stupid, far past idiotic, so she doesn't give herself time to think. She grabs his hand, drags him down the hallway into the dark, empty observation room, and locks the door behind them.

* * *

><p>It happens so fast she doesn't really know what's happening. The quick stumble, her back hits the window, and then she's trapped between the flat, unyielding glass and the hard, insistent press of his body. His strong thigh sliding between hers. His hands, god, his hands are so quick and so hot and his tongue is stroking into her mouth and then her pants are gone and his fingers are sliding inside her panties and she's writhing against him <em>oh god<em> –

He groans her name into her mouth, his hands digging into her thighs as he pushes her up against the wall. Her eyes are shut and she hears the quick unzip, the rustle, and then he's pushing inside her, strong and hot and solid and filling her and oh _shit_ –

Kate tries to breathe, digging her fingers into the broad stretch of his back. Shit, it's been - it's been a long time, and oh fuck _fuck_. He's not small. She shudders, letting out a long keening noise as her muscles stretch around him, all liquid heat and tight pressure.

She sinks her teeth into his earlobe and arches her back. His deep groan rumbles through his chest. Her whole entire world is him, his voice, his breath on her skin, his hands on her thighs, the rough heat blooming between her legs as he thrusts into her. And quiet, she has to be quiet, but her whole body is tight and rolling against him uncontrollably. She buries her face in his shoulder to muffle herself.

She fists her hands in his hair, her whole body so tightly wound all she can do is clench around him, hard, and she's moaning a long string of _oh god Castle oh god_ and when he tugs her thigh up and thrusts into her again she falls apart. Her body seizes up and she slides against him, her body slack on his, grinding into his lower body as he comes with a sharp buck of his hips into hers, a hot rush filling her, a deep, guttural groan he muffles in her hair.

Time stretches, dark and pounding behind her eyelids, and it's a long moment - or maybe it isn't - before she finally opens her eyes.

Did that just _happen?_

"Castle - let me - "

She shoves him off with trembling hands, looking at the floor, the wall, anywhere but him. Shit. Her jeans are crumpled on the floor. How did he get them off her so fast?

She snatches her pants up and yanks them back on, her face burning, her hands so shaky she can barely hold onto the denim. Oh god oh god what did they just _do_.

She has to get away from him. She wrenches the door open and she's out, striding down the hallway before he can stop her.

"Beckett. Kate. _Kate_." She hurries her pace, but she can hear him running after her. "Come on. Don't do this."

"Castle, just - " She just wants out, needs to get away, escape, get out of the precinct before someone sees them, all rumpled and disheveled and smelling like sex and sweat and coffee and just so _wrong_.

"Stop. _Stop."_ He finally catches up to her, catching her wrist and tugging her back to face him. "Please. Can we at least talk?"

"No." She yanks her hand out of his because he cannot touch her right now. Not after they just -

"Let me drive you home."

"You don't have a car here," she snaps, barely managing to stop herself from ending it with _idiot_.

"I could drive yours."

"You do _not_ get to drive my car, Castle." What the _hell_. She just - shit, she just needs to get away. "Look. I'm sorry. That was a m-"

"It was _not_ a mistake." His eyes are so blue, so warm that she has to look away. "Don't say that."

"No, I get it, Rick. You got what you wanted, didn't you?" She grits her teeth. One slip. She was so determined not to let him get under her skin. Now she's let him get into her pants. She couldn't stop her stupid self. It's done now.

"You thought - seriously? You think I just wanted - " He blinks, running a hand through his hair. "Kate, I'm not that kind of guy." She shoots him a look. "Okay. I used to be that kind of guy. But that's not what this is."

"Then what is this? What _do_ you want?" she hisses. "I think you've been pretty clear."

"I - " Castle gets a sober look on his face. He's serious. "I want to take you to dinner."

He wants to - "What?"

He shrugs. "I like you. I thought you knew that."

"You - " He _likes_ her? For the love of - "All you've been doing is trying to - to get in my pants, Castle." She hisses the last words, terribly aware that they're still in the middle of the precinct and this whole conversation is the pin in a potentially career-ending grenade just waiting to be pulled. "Well, congratulations. You - _mmph_."

His mouth is on hers before she can finish, a brief, hot kiss that catches her so completely by surprise she can't do anything more than accept it. Uh. "Finally. _Something_ shuts you up," he mumbles. "Should've figured that out on day one."

"Castle, you can't - just - " But her face gets hot and she stops abruptly, because there's not much good in saying _You can't kiss me_ to a man whose shoulder almost certainly has her teeth marks in it now.

"Look." He sighs, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "I know it sounds stupid, but would you like to have dinner with me?"

At this point nothing makes sense, so she gives up. Because he seems sincere. But she doesn't know what to do with him. Not after - that. "Really?"

"Yeah." Castle gives her that grin, the one where his eyes crinkle and his whole face smiles, and even after what they just did in a locked room, that smile still makes her blush. "You're gorgeous. And you're smart. And sarcastic." He's edging into her personal space, and when he reaches for her hand, she doesn't pull away, her body still responding to his, and oh, this is a lost cause. "And you have all these adorable little quirks. The way you can't bear to let on that you like me. The way you bite your lip. The way you keep staring at my mouth."

She flushes. She _was_ just staring at his mouth.

He traces soft circles on the back of her hand and she watches, dry-mouthed.

"Kate. Will you please just give me a chance?"

Kate can feel her lips curving up in spite of herself. _Castle_. He got the ending, but he still wants the whole story, it seems. He doesn't quit, does he? "You really want to take me to dinner tomorrow?"

"I do."

She bites her lip, watching as his eyes focus on her mouth. "How about you come home with me, and we make it breakfast instead?"

* * *

><p>In the elevator, he stands far too close and tries to hold her hand. She shoots him a withering glare. He whines. "Seriously?"<p>

"Don't push your luck, Castle."

"Fine. I get it. Not at work." He slides his hand down over the curve of her ass and _squeezes_. She gasps. He leans in to whisper against her ear. "But just so you know, I'm going to grope you in the cab."

* * *

><p>He gropes her in the cab.<p>

* * *

><p>To Castle's credit, he lets her get all the way into her apartment and shut the door behind them before he starts undressing her.<p>

Her jacket hits the floor, and then his, and she's fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He murmurs _bedroom_ into her ear, nipping lightly at her skin, and she pushes him down the hallway, kissing him slowly, pulling off his shirt as they stumble through the doorway. It's a hot blur and it's even better than the first time.

She's on her back, digging her teeth into her bottom lip and fisting her hands in her sheets as he slowly peels off her jeans, running his mouth over her skin as she gasps, when her phone rings shrilly.

She flinches. _No_. No, seriously. Not right now. Not when his hands are –

Castle scowls, pulling it from her jeans pocket, and she tries to grab it but he pulls it out of her reach. "Can't we just turn it off?"

"It's Lanie," she manages. It might be about the case. "I - _oh_ - have to - "

"Oh _fine,_" he grumbles, sliding his hands over her shoulders. "Make it quick."

Oh, dammit. Kate grabs her phone, batting his hands away from her breasts. "Beckett."

"Kate! Hey, if you're not busy, you want to go out tomorrow?"

"I - uh -" Castle's fingers slide over her thigh, light and teasing, and she swallows hard when his tongue flicks over the sensitive skin. "Maybe?"

"Wait." Lanie sounds amused. _Shit_. "Wait. Am I interrupting something?"

Kate tries to push Castle's wandering hands away, but he's stubborn. He slips his fingers over the damp of her underwear, sliding under the thin fabric, dipping into her and oh _god_. "N- no -"

Castle can hear everything, and he huffs out a short laugh that heats her skin as he presses a kiss to her bare stomach. And Lanie hears it. "Oh my _god. _ Is that Writer Boy?" Kate tries to answer but then his fingers _curl_ and she can't stop herself from gasping, her hips jerking sharply into his hand as Lanie's voice blares in her ear. "Kate Beckett, are you having sex with that man _right now?"_

Castle snatches the phone out of her hand before she can stop him. "She'll have to call you back, Dr. Parrish."

He hangs up, cutting off Lanie's excited response, and tosses the phone onto her nightstand. "You can call her later and tell her about all the wonderful dirty things I did to you."

"Then maybe you should shut up and actually -"

He swallows her next words. And then they're not talking anymore.


	5. 2x18, Boom

Thanks to Cartographical and Sparklemouse for editing this. Sparklemouse, I am sorry this originally-intended-as-birthday-fic is miserably, pathetically belated. I hope it's still okay.

I basically went into total cardiac arrest from 5x5. Yep. Just saying. Mr. Marlowe apparently does not want me to survive season 5. And I'm oddly okay with it.

* * *

><p><strong>Fuck Me, Castle: 2x18, Boom<strong>

_I don't have a home._

_- Yes, you do._

Kate wakes with a gasp, her heart pounding.

_oh god oh god oh god_

Her chest is tight, her heart bursting through her ribs, everything jagged and cutting and squeezing and painful. It's all wrong. Where is she? This isn't right. The room - this isn't her room, this is wrong, this is -

- it's Castle's place. It's his spare bedroom.

She wipes away the tears furiously, running her hands through her hair, pulling her knees to her chest. It's rattling in her teeth, pounding against her ribs, the dream that ripped her to pieces. Castle's voice, faint, yelling _Kate! Kate!_ She was telling him to get out, to get out of her apartment, because the ticking was getting louder and louder until her body buzzed with it and then he was there, running toward her, reaching for her (_no no no Castle you have to get out_) when the explosion ripped through with a flash too bright and too loud and too messy and then it caught him and he was gone.

Kate swallows hard. The tightness in her chest is dissolving slowly, the hot wave of panic still swirling in her veins. She's rattled. Shaking. Her pulse thrums through her body, heavy and erratic with the shock of jolting out of the nightmare. Her eyes sting. Her throat is tight.

She heads for the bathroom, thinking of getting water, but then looks back at the stairs.  
>It wouldn't hurt, would it? Just for a moment. She just - she needs to see him. Just to calm herself down. He'll never know.<p>

She pads silently down the stairs. Downstairs is dark, with just the soft glow of a nightlight he's left on in the kitchen and muted streetlights through the curtains. She slips through the kitchen, across the open floor to his office, and after a moment's hesitation, she crosses to his bedroom door.

Is he awake? Kate taps cautiously at the door. Nothing.

She slowly opens it.

He's there, of course. Lying on his stomach, his face mashed in his pillow, one arm slung across the empty space beside him. It's dim but she can just make out the steady rise and fall of his chest.

She takes a deep breath, slow and shaky, as she absently wipes her wet eyes. He's here. He's fine. He's snoring a little. The room is still, everything is quiet, and it's better. It's okay.

He snorts softly and she can't help but smile a little. It's peaceful, so she lingers for a long moment, leaning against the doorframe as she watches him sleep. Her eyes shut and she breathes through her nose, trying to muster up the will to go back upstairs. She's wearing her mother's ring - she couldn't bring herself to take it off tonight, not when everything else is gone - and now she curls her fingers around it, feeling the smooth metal against her fingers, cool and familiar and comforting.

She's about to turn and leave him alone when there's a soft rustle, and his voice suddenly cuts through the silence. "Ka- uh, Beckett?"

"Sorry. Sorry, I -" _Shit_. "I - was just - " What? _Making sure you were okay?_ _Staring at you? _Her face gets warm, because he definitely just caught her watching him sleep.

He scrubs his face, trying to wake up. "Something wrong?"

"It's nothing. Just go back to sleep."

"You - hang on." He fumbles for a second before she hears a click. The light beside his bed flicks on, throwing soft light across the room. Kate blinks at the sudden brightness. Too late, she realizes that he can see her face clearly now. "Are you crying?" He freezes, watching her with a stricken expression. How bad does it look? She swipes half-heartedly at her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Kate folds her arms over her chest. Her eyes still feel itchy and tight from the tears, and now, in the light, she's uncomfortable. This was a bad idea. She should have just stayed in her room, put her face in the pillow, handled it like an adult. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - "

"No, no. It's okay." He's sitting up, pushing back the covers. "Come here."

"Castle, it's f-"

"You wouldn't be here if you were 'fine,' Kate," he murmurs. "Just come sit for a second." She wavers, and he fixes her with pleading eyes. "Please? I won't get back to sleep if I know you're still upset."

Normally she wouldn't. She'd step back. She'd pull away and hide until she could control herself. But he's right. She's not fine. Her apartment blew up around her, there's a murderer somewhere in the city who wants her to burn to death, and she just had a dream so horribly vivid that she woke up thinking she had just seen Rick Castle die in front of her.

And it has nothing to do with his big eyes and the way he's looking at her right now.

She sits, facing him, pulling one leg up under herself. Being here - not just beside him, but here in his room, surrounded by him, settled in the center of his personal space - she'd been nervous opening the door, but it's comfortable. Even in the dim lamplight, it's spacious, muted, all deep colors and rich wood. And it smells like him. Warm. Masculine.

"You're shaking. What's wrong?"

His voice brings her back to herself. Oh. "I, uh -" Kate looks down at the comforter, tracing patterns over it with her fingers. It was so visceral upstairs, that moment she woke alone in the darkness, her eyes burning with his death. It was real then. But saying it out loud now? It takes her a second to get the words out. "- I had a dream."

She bites her lip, unwilling to look up. He's going to tease her, she's sure. Brave Kate Beckett had a bad dream. Couldn't sleep. Scared of the dark again. She shouldn't have -

His hand covers hers, sudden and warm. And when she looks up, he's not amused, not teasing. His blue eyes are wide. "The explosion?" Kate blinks, taken aback, before she nods slowly. "And you woke up and panicked?"

"How - do you - "

"I'm a dad," he says quietly, his mouth turning upward in a soft smile. "I've had nightmares so bad I had to sleep in Alexis' room. It happens."

* * *

><p>They fall silent for a moment, and Castle's vividly aware of her hand, slim and gentle and still cradled in his. At least she seems to have calmed down. Kate Beckett with trembling hands and tearstained cheeks, so upset from a nightmare that she actually came into his bedroom, is not something he ever expected. She's not like this. All this softness. He's not used to it. Not with her.<p>

He doesn't want to push, but he's still worried. He traces light circles on the back of her hand, and finally he just asks. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She lets out a short laugh. "Not really my thing, Castle."

"Neither is getting blown up. But you got through that," he points out, running his thumb over her knuckle. "It was the explosion? Were you caught in it again?"

"It wasn't - " She looks away, biting her lip, and he hates himself, because she's still upset but he can't help wanting to touch her. She's in his bed and biting her lip and he wants to pull her into his arms, hold her to his chest, run his fingers through her hair and kiss her forehead. And her cheek. And her mouth.

"What is it?"

"It wasn't me," she says quietly. "It was you."

It was -

Oh.

_That's _why she's here.

* * *

><p>"You saw me die?"<p>

She almost flinches at the words, the quiet matter-of-factness, but nods slowly.

"I'm sorry, Kate." His fingers are still tracing light patterns on her skin and it's mesmerizing. His index finger slips over the bones of her wrist and her mouth goes dry. The panic is gone now. Instead of the icy fear, her blood is warming, heat slowly simmering in her body, and his hand on hers is white-hot.

"It's not your fault."

"I know that," he shrugs. "I just wish I could keep you safe."

"That's not your job."

"Yes, it is. I'm your partner, remember? I'm with you. No matter what happens."

"I don't know, Castle. I seem to be a lightning rod for danger. Maybe you should get out while you can," she murmurs, her fingers flinching under his.

"Not a chance." The gravity in his tone surprises her. She looks up, meets his eyes, and that's a mistake. She can't look away. He smiles at her and her heart skips in her chest. "Kate. I care about you."

Her face gets hot. That was too much. This conversation would be dangerous enough in daylight. This isn't the kind of conversation they should be having in his bed, alone, in this dim smoky golden light while he's stroking her hand. Not when she's tired and worn and her guard is down, and even just the sound of his voice is like a caress. This isn't them. They don't cuddle on his bed and share their feelings. They don't talk about things. Like how she knows he likes her. He _really _likes her. He makes her laugh when she needs to. He plies her with coffee and prods her with teasing and does everything to make her smile. He comes to her apartment to protect her, armed with nothing but sheer determination. And now he's opened his door and made his home hers, too.

She's never been able to admit it in the daylight, but right now, she just wants -

She reaches up, traces her thumb over his cheek delicately. His eyes are wide, the clear blue irises darker, his pupils dilated. "Kate - " Tension runs through him, a visible widening of his eyes, and she knows he can tell. His gaze flicks down to her lips. He knows what she's thinking.

"I - just - "

Words don't work. She leans the rest of the way, one hand coming to his shoulder, and before he can say anything else she presses her mouth to his.

She kisses him slowly, his lips warm and soft under hers. His body is stiff with shock at first, but before she can doubt herself, he's kissing her back. His hand comes to her face, tangling in her hair, his mouth on hers deliberate and pliant and perfect. Oh, yes. He's good at this. He's so good at this.

She traces her tongue over the seam of his mouth and nips lightly at his bottom lip, arching into him as he coaxes her into opening for him. The shallow kiss gets deeper as his tongue lazily traces the contours of her mouth, drawing a soft moan from the back of her throat. Kate buries her fingers in his hair, twisting them around the silky strands, and for a second he responds, his hands tightening on her waist.

Then he breaks his mouth from hers with a gasp, leaving her dazed and wanting.

"Kate - " Her given name makes her shiver, his low, husky voice sending a tingle through her skin. "Kate, I - I don't want to push you -"

"You're not." She kisses him gently, brief, just a soft brush on his mouth. His fingers are dragging a slow, hot trail up the curve of her spine and she lets out a soft breath, leaning in, kissing along the edge of his jaw. When she bites softly at his earlobe he groans, fisting his hand in the soft fabric of her shirt.

* * *

><p>She's kissing him (<em>oh god oh god<em>) and running her hands over his shoulders and she's so warm and soft and _willing_ and they are _in his bed_-

Castle sucks in a long breath, shuddering as her hands slip under his shirt. He had all these noble intentions, ideas of being gentlemanly and comforting and stoically platonic, but they're so far gone right now. He can't quite wrap his mind around the fact that they are in his bed together and they are making out and she wants _more_.

"Kate, Kate -" He says it into her mouth and it just undoes him, whispering her name while her eager, hot mouth brushes his, stealing more kisses as her light fingers trail over his bare skin. But he has to ask. Because the thought of waking up to an empty bed and the words _Castle, this was a mistake _hurts to even imagine. "Kate, you - are you sure?"

She freezes, her hands brushing lightly over his skin as she slowly pulls them back. A terrible gaping hole opens in his chest, and he shuts his eyes. Okay. He's a good person. He can do this. He can let her go. He can -

All his lofty noble thoughts vaporize when she kisses him again, long and slow and delicate. Her hands cradle his face, her thumbs sweeping gently over his cheekbones.

She settles her hands on his shoulders and slides into his lap, her knees pressing into the mattress as she straddles him. He can't help but groan at the sudden pressure. And even though layers of fabric, he knows, she can feel him, she can feel exactly what this is doing to him, how badly he wants her.

"Castle." She kisses him, her tongue brushing over his lower lip. "If I wasn't sure, I'd stop."

_Oh_. He looks up and catches her gaze, dark and challenging and feral and _hungry_.

She doesn't want to stop.

* * *

><p>He's so gentle. So sweetly, unbearably gentle.<p>

There's certainty in his kiss now, no fear. When his hands slide under the loose fabric of her shirt, she arches into him, taking in a quick gasp as the movement settles her into his body, pressing her more firmly against the heat of his groin. Castle slowly tugs her shirt up, and she holds her breath, raising her arms, letting him pull it off. He drops it to the floor beside the bed and she bites her lip, a little self-conscious. But then his lips are trailing over the curve of her jaw, the column of her throat, and his light hands are tracing over her breasts, and the fire in her veins flares white-hot as his hips twist into hers.

He carefully takes off her necklace, the chain and ring glinting in the light, and sets it on his nightstand tenderly. His fingers slide up the curve of her spine and she lets out a hum, tugging at his shirt. He chuckles softly against her skin, kissing her jaw again before pulling back to help her get rid of his shirt, and it joins hers on the floor.

It's a blur then, the slow glide of his hands over her skin, his lips following, and she shuts her eyes as he hooks his fingers over the waistband of her leggings, dragging them off with her underwear. Her toes curl, her hands fisting in the sheets as her skin burns with delicious anticipation, and he crawls back up her body for one long, slow, erotic kiss before trailing his way down her chest, laving his tongue over her tight nipples as she gasps. He presses a soft, wet kiss just above her navel and her hips twitch involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping her throat.

"Kate," he murmurs, his voice rippling through her skin, a slow wave of heat that slides over her, molten, slick, clinging. "Kate. Just breathe."

She sucks in a long, shaky breath, willing her taut muscles to relax, even as he brushes his tongue over her hipbone. His hands slide over her hips, thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and oh, oh she's already so wet, so -

And then his mouth is on her and everything goes white.

She throws her head back, her hands clenched desperately in the sheets, the pillow, anything she can grasp. He's slow, deliberate, his tongue drawing over her with soft flicks that are teasing and maddening and perfect. Her breath hitches in her chest, her hips straining against his hands, and he works her with his lips and tongue and _oh _his teeth at a pace that's so good it's agonizing. She can't stop the long, high-pitched moans that escape her, her body helpless and strained and coiled tight under him.

He slides a finger inside her, then another, and it's too much, it's all too good. She chokes out a strangled cry, her hands fisting tight in his hair, fingers flexing at the same rhythm his tongue strokes her, and her heels dig into the mattress, her whole body tight and burning. His fingers curl inside her and she breaks apart, a keening moan escaping her lips as she shudders in violent, blissful release.

When she finally comes back to herself, he's watching her with hazy eyes, his hand sweeping over the curve of her jaw as he leans in to kiss her. She can taste herself on his mouth, smell herself on his skin. He's sweaty, his arms tense as he lowers himself into the cradle of her hips.

When he finally, _finally_ slides into her, it's hot and thick and solid, filling her until she can't think beyond _ohgodCastleohgodyes_. He groans into her shoulder, choking out her name as he thrusts. His hands tangle with hers, pinning them to the bed. His mouth comes to her throat, sucking lightly behind her ear as his hips roll into hers. She gasps, sliding her heel up the back of his leg, the change of angle giving her pressure right where she needs it. He's everywhere, filling her, tasting her, twining his fingers through hers, and it's perfect and oh _yes _like that like that -

She lets go and comes _hard_, clenching around him, and he's there, his hips jerking as he spills into her with a deep, guttural groan.

She falls asleep with his arms around her, and for the first time since she heard the words _Goodbye Nikki_, she actually feels safe.

* * *

><p>He wakes up to an empty bed.<p>

There's a long, dazed moment of panic, but then his sleep-fogged brain catches up. Right. Right. The pillow beside his has clearly been used. His clothes are still on the floor where _she _dropped them. And he can smell her. On his pillow, on his sheets, on his skin. God, his bed smells like Kate Beckett. He's in heaven.

He hears soft clinks coming from the kitchen, and he grins wide. He can smell coffee. Oh, yes. Coffee. Okay, _now _this morning can't get any better.

He tugs on clothes and shuffles into the kitchen, to find Kate cooking (she's cooking? she cooks?) and chatting with his mother. Oh. Mother. Of course Mother's here.

He's relatively sure Kate didn't greet her with _Good morning Martha, I just slept with your son_. So he opts for casual. "I just woke up and _literally_ smelled the coffee. And the bacon!" Coffee _and _bacon, God, she is the perfect woman. He would kiss her but maybe that's not the brightest idea. Not in front of his loving, well-meaning, overly-involved mother. "Dropping by to return your key?"

Mother feigns a laugh, explaining her current fashion dilemma, but Castle only has eyes for Kate. She's beaming, her whole face lit up, her eyes sparkling.

He reaches for bacon and gets slapped on the hand with a spatula. Oh, come _on_. He fixes her with a dirty look, trying to telegraph the message _I had a really, really good time last night and I want you in my bed again at your earliest convenience_. It works; a blush stains her cheeks, her eyes dropping briefly to his mouth before she gets ahold of herself, looking down to hide the smile blossoming over her lovely face.

Mother, who thankfully seems to have missed the exchange, pokes him in the arm with a significant glance. "Well. She cooks." Kate does cook. She also has other...skills.

And to his shock, Kate starts telling them about her mother. A pang sweeps through his chest. Johanna - crusading lawyer, loving mother, and apparently, brilliant chef, too. And as intimate as last night was, there's something about Kate cooking breakfast, chatting with his mother and talking about her childhood that actually chokes him up a bit. It feels so _natural_. And Kate seems to feel that way too. She keeps sending him these soft, almost shy smiles, and this time when he grabs a piece of bacon she doesn't stop him.

Alexis comes bounding blithely down the stairs to hug her grandmother, and Castle takes the opportunity to lean towards Kate. "Sorry I didn't get to wake you up this morning."

She bites her lip and it takes all his self-control not to pull her close and kiss her. "Yeah, well. You looked tired."

"You wore me out." She blushes furiously, looking down, but she's smiling. He catches her wrist and she looks up. "You - uh - " His brain has gone dead. Nothing. Zero.

"Yes, Castle. It was a good night."

_Wow_.

She's smiling at him and he really _really _wants to kiss her.

Alexis bounds upstairs, and he thinks Mother's going with her, but she stops for a moment before following her granddaughter. "I'll be right there, Alexis." She turns back to Castle and Kate. "Kate, darling, breakfast looks wonderful. Thank you. And, uh - you might just use a dab of makeup. On your throat. Richard seems to have given you a bit of a love bite, dear."

With that, Mother sails upstairs.

Um.

Well.

He chances a look at Kate, and her cheeks are scarlet. "Castle - "

"Yeah." He coughs. "She, uh. Doesn't mince words."

"Oh _god_. She - do I _really -?"_

He brushes her hair back, and sure enough - "Oh, wow. Yeah. I got kind of carried away, didn't I?"

She shoots him what's probably supposed to be a glare, but honestly she's still glowing and he doesn't think he's ever going to be anything but turned on by it. "Castle - "

"Kate, relax. She's fine with it. We'll tell Alexis what seems appropriate." He slips his arms around her waist and she immediately sinks into him, her body molding to his like they've done this a million times (and oh god they are _going to_). "But first we need to take care of something much, much more urgent."

"What's that?"

He grins. "I still have to kiss you good morning."


	6. 4x08, Heartbreak Hotel

Thanks to Sandiane Carter and Sparklemouse for editing! – and by editing, I mean reading through a pile of incoherent words and suggesting that maybe I attempt to form sentences in English or something resembling it.

This chapter goes out to daphnebeauty. I asked her which episode to do for the next FMC, and her response was "Heartbreak Hotel. FEEX EET with sex." Hope this makes you happy, dear.

In the episode, Beckett goes back to NYC and leaves the guys partying in Atlantic City. That's where we pick up.

* * *

><p><strong>Fuck Me, Castle: Heartbreak Hotel<strong>

_If I've learned anything, it's not to let a little thing like murder  
>get in the way of a good time.<em>

The fun - and alcohol - are just starting to flow when someone walks up to their booth.

Ryan looks up and sputters. "Beckett?"

Castle twists awkwardly in his seat, and sure enough, it's her, eyeing them with an amused look on her face. "Guys. You started the party without me?"

"I thought you were back in the city," Ryan says.

She shrugs. "I was. I needed to get your reports anyway. So I figured I could come show you how to hold your alcohol."

"Awwww man, c'mon, Beckett. This is guys' night," Esposito whines. "No honey is gonna come make out with me if you're here killing the mood."

She twitches an eyebrow. "What if she wants to make out with me?"

Castle chokes on his beer, coughing violently. The thought of - oh god - if she - and some openminded, mostly-naked dancer -

"Guys. _Guys_." Her flat voice shatters the amazing little daydream he just had going. He forces his eyes up to meet hers and tries very, very hard to look like he wasn't just imagining her tonguing some skimpy little showgirl. She rolls her eyes. "Seriously, you are so predictable it's pathetic."

"What? Uh." Esposito waves over the waiter. "You know what, Beckett. Why don't you stay for a bit? Have a drink. Make some, uh. New friends."

She slides into the booth beside Castle (and thank _God_ the boys are sitting next to each other and she has no choice but to sit next to him) and orders a drink.

* * *

><p>Kate knocks back a tequila shot with more grace than Castle has ever seen, the easy flick of her wrist, the long line of her throat as she swallows. She sets the shotglass down.<p>

"Congratulations, Honeymilk."

Castle wonders how many more shots he can convince her to do. He doesn't care about the alcohol. As sexy as tequila is, she can take shots of apple juice for all he cares, as long as it means she throws her head back like this and her hair tumbles over her shoulders and he can barely stop himself from thinking about what that would look like in his bed.

And normally he's alright, he has more self-control than this. But she's shrugged off her leather jacket and now he's staring at the smooth lines of her shoulders under a thin little tank top, all this smooth, soft bare skin he never gets to see. And of course she's sitting next to him, and of _course_ there's not a ton of room so she gets closer and closer to him, and oh. Oh man. Her side is pressed up against his, and when she laughs he has to actively resist the urge to flinch. This was a bad idea. A really, really amazing bad idea.

"Look at that one, Beckett." Esposito nods at a tall blonde waitress with a dazzling smile and dizzying cleavage. "She looks like she needs some love. Like maybe she's been waiting for the right woman."

"Oh, really?" Beckett settles back in her seat, and Castle absolutely does not look down the front of her shirt. Her eyes are bright. She holds her liquor well, and she's had just enough that she's smiling, teasing. Flirting.

At first when her fingertips brush lightly over his thigh, he just gulps, because clearly it's an accident, the product of the narrow seats and just enough alcohol to break the touch barrier. It's an accident. It absolutely is not -

But her hand is sliding up his thigh and oh _shit_, shit, Kate, that's -

Her fingernails scrape lightly over his leg and he lets out a shuddery exhale. He steals a glance at her and immediately regrets it. Her face is flushed - from the alcohol? - and her tongue is peeking between her lips.

Her eyes flick up to meet his. Her pupils are dilated, huge, endlessly dark, and her middle finger slips down to run further between his legs, tripping over the denim so very, very slowly. It's agonizing. Kate, come on. Kate. _Kate, if you don't mean it_ -

He barely hears Ryan and Esposito saying they're heading off to go grab more drinks. The boys are gone and it's all Kate. Her thighs are pressed together, the heat radiating from her body, warming his skin. Her pink cheeks, the soft touch of her tongue over her bottom lip, the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing is shallow.

It's too much to take in, the dim lights of the bar, the closeness, the softness of her body. She's so beautiful. And he finally can't stop himself anymore - never had a chance - so he leans in and covers her mouth with his.

If he ever had any fear of rejection, it vanishes now as she arches into him, her lips parting easily under his as her hand slides up over his shoulder, her fingers curling around his neck, tracing the shell of his ear. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. He slides his tongue over hers and she lets out this soft whimper, low in her throat, and _god_ this is even better than he remembers, and all he wants to -

He tears himself away, gasping. Stop. Public. They're in public. They have to stop before they get thrown out.

She bites her lip and he can't quite stop himself from leaning in to rescue it, running his tongue lightly over the abused flesh. She draws in a sharp breath against him.

"Castle." Her hand slides over his thigh. "You have a room, right?"

* * *

><p>He barely manages to get the keycard in the door and fumble the handle open because god her mouth, and her hands, he has no idea how they survived the elevator up here because there were people in there with them but all he wanted to do was shove her up against the wall and just <em>have<em> her.

But he finally pulls her inside and kicks the door shut behind him, and it's a blur, stumbling towards his bed as her slender, nimble fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt. The back of his legs hit the bed and suddenly she's pushing him down. His back lands squarely on the mattress and then oh god oh _god_ she is _crawling on top of him_.

It's everything, the soft wet heat of her mouth, the delicious, agonizing pressure as her hips roll slowly into him, and it's so much and he loves her he _loves _her -

"Kate - _Kate_ - " he chokes out against her aggressive tongue. She's straddling him, her thighs bracketing his waist, her hands sliding under the open edges of his shirt. She pulls back, panting, her eyes dark and animal, her hair swirled over her shoulders. He's too shocked and turned on to move, to do anything but groan as she slides her hand down his chest, letting her fingers drag teasingly to his waistband before she lets go.

He manages to get his hands under the flimsy cotton of her tank top and tugs ineffectually; she takes pity and pulls it over her head, letting it drop to the floor as she leans over again to kiss him. She's gentler now. She's making love to his mouth, slow and thorough and tender, nipping at his upper lip, sucking lightly on his lower one. Between the lazy nips and caresses of her mouth and the tight pressure in his groin, he's dying, has to be, there is no _way_ anything can feel this good and he is absolutely about to combust.

She reaches for his belt and he finally catches his breath. He slides his hands over her back, tracing over the smooth bare skin, feeling the shudder of her quick breathing, the shiver running through her, and it's all too much, too good, so perfect and she's _perfect_, and when she whispers his name in a thready, ragged voice, he can only blink mutely because every part of him is chanting _yes yes oh god yes Kate_.

He inches back on the bed, holding his breath as she settles on her knees, reaching to unhook her bra, but he stops her. His eyes are fixed on her chest, on the pale knot between her breasts. The scar. The split second that almost took her away.

He's so in _love_ with her and she almost _died_ -

The thought settles into his limbs, heavy and terrible and desperate, and he pushes up into her, chasing her mouth, capturing her in a kiss that's more frantic than sweet, slipping her bra off. She whimpers softly against him. He rolls her onto her back and then she's staring up at him, her chest heaving, fingers clutching desperately at his arms.

Her jeans are tight and as much as he normally loves that, they stick. He has to tug hard, and they only come off after an uncomfortably long round of him yanking and her twisting under his hands. But they finally come off, leaving her squirming underneath him wearing nothing but a little pair of blue panties with pink polka dots. _Seriously?_

He's actually thankful it's not some racy little scrap of black lace, because the laugh that bubbles up in his chest helps. He can breathe. It's real. She lets out a huff, but her eyes are smiling, her hands on his shoulders gentler. Oh, Kate - Kate -

He drags her underwear off, pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss to the smooth pale line of her thigh. She lets out a raw, keening noise as he slides one finger inside her wetness, slow and deliberate. He slips a second finger in and works her carefully. Her hands are fisted tight in the sheets, her mouth open in a soundless moan, her face and chest flushed a deep pink. Her hips arch into his hand, desperately seeking friction, and _fuck_ she's so wet, so _wanting_.

"_Castle_ -" she gasps. "_Please_ -"

He kicks off his boxers awkwardly, flinging them away and crawling up over her body. He settles between her legs. His hands are shaking because he just fucking adores Kate Beckett, he worships her, and now she's lying beneath him, gasping, her eyes heavy-lidded and hazy with lust. He sucks in a long breath, pressing his lips to her throat, and slides into her in a long, slow thrust.

She chokes, her whole body seizing up, her pelvis arching up into his with an involuntary jerk that makes him groan into her skin. He sucks on her neck, running his tongue over the line of her jaw, thrusting into her again and again, until she's writhing, her hands clutching at his back, her heels digging into his backside.

His body is throbbing, hot, unbearable, and he can feel her tightening around him. He grits his teeth and sinks into her again, a long, rough thrust that makes her eyes roll back and her body shudder and jerk against him as she moans, her fingernails stinging against his back, and the sudden heat and new tightness as she pulses around him is too much.

He spills into her with a groan as his whole body seizes up, pulsing and deep and just _finally_, and he has the strangest sense that he's let something go, like there's something gone that's been haunting him for a long time, and all that's left is her, with the scar on her chest that's healed. And her eyes and her smile and her heart.

He feels whole for the first time since that day.

* * *

><p>Castle jerks awake in the middle of the night to find her sound asleep, curled up on her side facing him, and hogging the covers. Her legs are tangled in the comforter and her cheek is pillowed in one hand, her face slack and peaceful in slumber.<p>

"Kate?" he whispers, touching her shoulder lightly. She lets out a breath but doesn't move otherwise. "Kate. I'm cold."

No response.

"Kate." He swallows hard. "I love you."

Her nose wrinkles. So cute. "Mmmm." Her eyelids flutter but they don't open.

He grins wide in the darkness and tugs at the comforter until she releases it, a soft, meaningless noise of protest escaping her. "Shh, Kate. Gotta share."

He covers them both, slips his arm around her waist, and goes back to sleep.

* * *

><p>When Castle wakes up in the morning, she's stolen the covers again.<p>

Early morning sunlight is streaming in gently, lighting up her fair skin, setting her hair alight. He's staggered for a second by how gorgeous she is, tangled up in the comforter, her face relaxed.

She doesn't move when he gets up to use the bathroom. He looks into the mirror as he washes his hands. _Jeez, Rick_. He's put on weight. He'd been trying to deny it, but his shirts don't lie and the mirror doesn't either.

But now they're - well - _together_, at least somewhat, and he's relatively certain she wouldn't have gone to bed with him if she didn't want it to happen again (and again and again and maybe forever) and he has the sudden desperate desire to earn her. Shed everything, physical and mental and emotional, all the horrible things that have been knotted in his chest ever since he said _I love you, Kate_ and watched her die. Because maybe if he's better, everything will be better. Maybe he can make it work.

He shakes his head and goes back to the bedroom, pulling on his boxers. He's sitting gingerly back on the mattress when he feels it shift, and turns to see Kate stretching, rubbing her face. Her eyes flick open, hazy, green and gold, and he holds his breath for a second. No going back now.

"Mmm. Castle?" Her voice is soft and breathy and delicious, and his body warms in response.

"Good morning."

"Morning." She smiles up at him, warm and sleepy, and all the air leaves his lungs. Okay. Okay. She's smiling. They just slept together - no, no, made love - and she's smiling.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks _This is it._

"You, uh. Sleep okay?" The words are so inane, he cringes the moment he hears them. But she bites her lip, a pink flush spreading over her cheeks.

"Yeah."

"Good." He clears his throat. This is pathetic. He should just ask, just - the thing he's sure isn't true, it's not, it's not like her so why is he even worrying - "You're not, uh - hungover, are you? I mean. If you want water. Or something."

She blinks at him, fuzzy for a second, before her eyes flash with understanding. "Are you - trying to ask if I was drunk?"

Shit. That sounds terrible. "No, no, I just - " His shoulders slump. He hates himself a little. "We _were_ drinking. And you came on to me. And - "

"I wasn't that drunk, Castle." Her lips quirk up in a teasing little smile. "Besides. It would've happened either way."

Oh.

...wow.

She props herself up on an elbow to look at the clock on the nightstand, and his mouth goes dry as the covers slip and he almost gets a look at her breasts. "You're up early."

"I was cold. You're a blanket thief, you know that?"

"What?"

"Don't even play that game with me," he scoffs. "_Twice_ I woke up freezing and found you all snuggled and warm in the covers."

Kate shoots him a smoldering look, stealing one hand out to slide over his thigh. "If you'd ask nicely, I could - share." His breath catches. "Or warm you up...some other way."

He can't stop the laugh that bubbles up in his chest, even as her hand sends shocks of heat through his skin. "Katherine _Beckett_. You dirty-minded woman."

"I learned from the best."

She's biting her lip again, brushing her hair back, and that soft, shy look on her face, and with the memories of her gasping his name, the graceful lines of her slim body pressed against him, just -

"You're so beautiful," he blurts out, all his smoothness gone, replaced with this overpowering urge to repeat it every moment of every day. Her mouth opens in an _O_ of surprise, and she blushes, looking down. She's radiant.

"We, uh. Need to get back to the city," she says softly. "I have to turn in my report this afternoon."

Something - he's missing something. The city -

"Wait. Wait. The - the guys." His chest tightens in panic. Shit. _Shit_. "Ryan, and Esposito - they're -"

"I think they know, Castle. They saw us leave together last night."

He gulps. "You're - okay with that?"

She smiles, soft. He's never seen her like this. So soft. "Yeah. I mean - it's no one's business but ours. But they're - I trust them. They're like family."

"Okay. Yeah." She's right. They're a team. Teams work together. Teams protect each other.

She stifles a yawn. "But Castle? Promise me one thing?"

He kisses her shoulder. "Anything."

"Never wear that thing again."

He follows her gaze across the room to see - his Elvis costume, draped carelessly over a chair. "What? You didn't like that?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Not your best look."

He grins, tracing light fingers up over her shoulder. "So what, pray tell, _is_ my best look, Detective Beckett?"

She leans into him, her hands sliding into his hair as she breathes against his lips. "I think I like this one."


	7. 1x09, Little Girl Lost

Edited by my precious dolly daphnebeauty.

This was intended, and utterly failed, to be shimmeryshine's birthday present. I'm sorry it's so absurdly not on your birthday, bb, but you're still the wind beneath my wings.

Post-ep for 1x9, Little Girl Lost.

* * *

><p><strong>Fuck Me, Castle: In Vino Veritas<strong>

_If only he knew how big a fan you really are..._

Kate wakes up and it's wrong.

Everything's off.

Her fingers are curled around a pillow that isn't right. It smells all wrong. The covers are warm and heavy. Too warm and heavy. She feels good and something is _definitely_ not -

She twists and gasps. _Ouch_. Sore. Her hip flexors ache. She rolls her ankle; her calves are tight. And _ohhhhh_ - oh, the twinge between her legs. Yeah. Yeah, that's -

It all comes flooding back - the case, they ended a case, saved a little girl, and then Will cancelled on her fifteen minutes before they were supposed to meet. It stung. So she called Castle to ask if he was still interested in going out for a drink. It gets a little blurry after that, but she remembers tequila and limes and Castle - Castle -

Her cheeks get hot because she remembers his face hovering too close, the smell of tequila on his breath, the shallow, tentative kisses that started getting deeper. The cab ride, digging her teeth into her lip as he slid his hands under her clothes. Stumbling into his dark loft in a tangle of limbs. Couldn't stop kissing him long enough to walk; he carried her into his bedroom and then -

Shit. _Shit_.

It rushes through her mind in vivid sensory detail, and oh God, she remembers him stripping her clothes off and crawling over her body like some kind of animal. She remembers his face between her legs while she writhed and begged. She remembers moaning his name as he thrust into her _hard_. She remembers everything.

She opens her eyes and sure enough, it's Castle. Sprawled out in bed beside her. Sleeping. The comforter's bunched down low around his hips, just past the narrowing of his waist where his muscles start to taper, a taut _v_ that arrows down into his groin and disappears under the covers just where the dusting of dark hair begins.

Her mouth goes dry. Because she knows what's under the comforter now. The dull warm ache between her legs is ample reminder. It's been a long time for her. And he's big. It was almost too much at first, so much that even after he thoroughly undid her with his nimble fingers and clever tongue, he stretched her to the point of pain, so impossibly thick as he slid inside her, inch by inch. She covers her face, willing away the dampness between her legs. Because he filled her so tight and heavy that even just thinking about it is embarrassingly arousing.

He doesn't move as she sits up slowly, sucking in a breath at the tight ache in her abs, looking around. The room's still dark. She can vaguely see the dark furniture, the large framed animal prints. It's deep. Masculine. Warm. And there are clothes scattered _everywhere_.

They got a little...impatient.

She slips into the master bathroom and yanks her clothes on with shaky hands. Her shirt's covered in creases from sitting on the floor all night, but there's not much she can do. Her jeans are crumpled; she has to tug to get them over her tender, sticky thighs. Her underwear are torn but they'll have to do.

She looks in the mirror and _ohhhhhhhhhhh_. Not good. Her makeup's mostly gone, her hair's a mess from rolling on his pillows, and _shit,_ that is a dark mouth-shaped bruise on the left side of her throat. Her face burns. He was...zealous.

She knows she has to have more marks - on her breasts, on her thighs. But right now she just needs to escape what was a stupid, stupid decision. And she's not hungover - she wasn't _nearly_ drunk enough to justify letting Richard Castle get her naked.

She cups water in her hands to drink. Her throat is hoarse. She was vocal last night. He figured out pretty quickly that pinching her nipples brought a high-pitched keening noise out of her. And when he pushed her up against the wall and thrust into her from behind, she screamed so loudly he clapped his hand over her mouth to muffle the obscenities.

She still hasn't heard him move in bed, so she's got time. Kate hastily washes her face and runs her hands through her hair in an attempt to tame it. It'll have to do for now. At least she doesn't have to go in early today; Montgomery gave them the morning off.

Finally deciding that's the best she can do for now, she slips out of the bedroom, steadfastly refusing to look at Castle all rumpled and sleepy and sex-tousled in the bed. It's done, it's over, it happened, she got stupid and fell into bed with him, and now she's got a walk of shame to do.

But _shit_ was that good sex.

Kate finds her jacket on the floor, snags it, and is on her way across the living room toward his front door when -

"Detective Beckett?"

Oh no. No, no no no -

Alexis is perched on a stool at the kitchen island, spoon hovering over her cereal bowl, staring at her with wide, startled eyes.

Kate spends three seconds wondering if she can pass this off as an early morning visit - but she's very clearly wearing wrinkled clothes, her hair is a mess, and she's walking out of Castle's bedroom. And Alexis is old enough to figure out what a walk of shame is when she sees it.

"Uh, Alexis. Hi."

"Good morning." The girl's face is red. No chance she's in the dark about what happened.

"You're up early," Kate ventures, trying desperately hard not to project on her face exactly what she let Alexis' father do to her last night.

Alexis shrugs. "Yeah. Kind of." She pauses. "Is that - is your shirt inside out?"

Kate follows her gaze and looks down at herself, and sure enough, the seams are facing out. She wants to sink into the floor. She wants to disappear.

"Detective Beckett, what a pleasant surprise! Good morning, dear."

Because this wasn't already humiliating enough, Kate turns to find Martha sailing down the stairs in a scarlet paisley silk dressing gown. "Hi, Martha."

"It's so nice to have you here! Have you eaten? We have plenty of -"

"Oh, no, Martha, I was just -"

"Don't be absurd, darling. At least have some coffee."

Before Kate can really process it, she's letting Martha sit her down next to Alexis, trying not to wince at the pull in her legs. She watches Martha putter around the kitchen. Alexis just stares at her cereal. It's quiet. It's uncomfortable. Because everyone knows exactly what happened last night.

"Kate, please, we need to -"

Castle appears from his office, robe hastily tucked around him. He stops mid-sentence when he sees the three women in front of him. Kate swallows, trying to telegraph with her eyes. _Please let me out of here_.

"Ah. Morning, Mother. Alexis." He rubs his neck self-consciously and everything's just a whole new world of uncomfortable.

After a pause that goes on far too long, Martha drags Alexis back upstairs, leaving Kate sitting at the counter, watching as Castle pours them both coffee and hands her a cup. She savors the rich, dark taste. Coffee. It's dependable. So far it's the one thing that's not a disaster this morning.

_Don't say anything, Castle. Don't make it worse._

"Last night was amazing."

She grits her teeth. Because it's true but she can't bring herself to agree out loud. Not without reliving the agonizing pleasure of him sliding inside her while she dug her fingernails into the sinewy muscles of his back.

"It shouldn't have happened."

"Kate -"

"_Don't -_" She presses her hand to her forehead. _Don't call me that_. He called her _Kate_ in bed. He groaned _Kate_ into her shoulder when he gripped her thighs and spilled inside her in a hot dirty rush.

"Why not?"

Her eyes flick up to his and she finds him - oh. This isn't what she's used to from him. He looks serious.

"Castle - it's a bad idea." Bad. Terrible. Not good. Not -

"Yeah. Maybe." He leans over the counter, holding her gaze squarely. Her breath gets shallow. He's so close. "Or maybe it's not. You know I like you. I'm reasonably sure you don't hate me. Besides, you're the one who called me last night, remember?"

She looks down. She called him because she was hurt and lonely. Will had cancelled on her. She just wanted company. It wasn't supposed to go this far.

"Kate." She watches, mesmerized, as he covers her hand with his. Heat slides through her veins, syrupy and thick and arousing. "Look. It happened. I know you've been dealing with seeing your ex again -" she glares at him; he backpedals - "which is a topic for a different time, obviously."

She doesn't want to talk about Will. She wants to get out of here, go home, get over the fact that she's in a million pieces right now. What was that strong principle she had once? Didn't intend to become just another conquest? And yet he's touching her hand and she half-wants to drag him back to his bedroom. "So is this the part where you say thanks and tell me I'll get a signed copy of your next book?"

"No. Well, I mean, sure. If you want one. But I was going to ask you to dinner tonight."

She freezes. "You - what?"

He shrugs. "Just let me take you to dinner. It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be." He gives her a soft half-smile and she hates how easy it is to stare at his mouth. "Like I said. I like you. Give me a chance to prove it."

Kate swallows hard. She can't - she just - it's all wrong and she shouldn't but she _wants_ him, it's too much, and really, would it be such a bad thing?

"Dinner?"

He smiles, a real, genuine smile. "Dinner."

She curls her hands around her warm coffee. "I - guess so."

"It's a date." He's beaming at her, his eyes all warm and soft and crinkled in a smile she wants to kiss, and her whole body is alight with heat and ridiculous _want_ unfolding and maybe this was was always going to happen anyway.

She looks down, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Sorry Alexis and your mom saw me. I didn't mean to make it uncomfortable."

"It's okay." He chuckles. "I think they'll recover. And I'm sorry you felt like you had to sneak out."

She's still staring at her coffee when suddenly she feels his hand on her face. He tips her chin up, and he's so close and she just can't look away and it's all flooding back because when he touches her she just comes _undone_.

"I really, really like you," he whispers, and his lips are so close he's almost kissing her just from sheer proximity. "And I'd like to kiss you again."

"You already kissed me." She can't stop the smile creeping across her face. Holy shit. They're actually _doing this_. "You kissed me a lot, actually."

"Not nearly enough," he mumbles into her mouth, and then he's kissing her for real and his mouth is perfect and she gives up pretending she doesn't like it.

By the time he pulls away to breathe, her hands are in his hair, her legs are around his waist, and he's got her pressed up against the kitchen island, his hands gripping her ass and hauling him firmly against him (and that robe isn't doing much to hide his - excitement). She sucks in a shaky breath. _Oh_.

So much for pretending she was going to get over it.

"For the record? You were right." He kisses her again, gently. "I had no idea."


	8. 1x06, Always Buy Retail

One of the sexiest moments in season 1. Rarrrrrrrrr.

Thanks to the amazing Sparklemouse for editing!

* * *

><p><strong>Fuck Me Castle: 1x6, Always Buy Retail<strong>

_You know exactly what I want, don't you?_

"I _definitely_ saved your life. And you know what that means, don't you? It means you owe me."

"Owe you what?"

"Whatever I want." Her face gets hot. She can't stop staring at his mouth. "And you know exactly what I want, don't you?"

Oh yeah. She knows what he's wanted since they met. And she's telling herself she doesn't want it.

"You know what I really, really want you to do…"

He leans in, all warm and good-smelling and dammit, all she can think about is a very particular thing she could do to him, something that might actually make him shut up for once -

"I'll pick you up at eight."

He stalks away before she realizes what he just said.

"Wait – Castle – is this – "

A date?

The one thing he wants is a date?

* * *

><p>Miraculously, she gets home in enough time to change – Castle texted <em>Got a table at Rossignol. Wear something nice<em> – and throws open her closet, desperate to find something that's appropriate for Rossignol. Nope. Nothing. Rossignol isn't the kind of place she goes.

Like any responsible cop, she calls for backup.

* * *

><p>It's 7:39 when Lanie finally gets there, smirking. "You're dating Writerboy and you need a dress. Something easy to get out of, right?"<p>

"Shut up."

Lanie brought good options, in spite of all her comments about_ room to get his hands in_. Kate tries to grab a fairly tame blue dress, but Lanie yanks it back and shoves something rich, silky and gleaming emerald into her hands. "No. No little nun outfits for you. Not when you're going out with Castle. I shouldn't have even brought that. You try _this_."

Lanie's right, of course. Kate slips the green dress on and Lanie produces a slim silver belt and clasps it neatly around her waist, somewhat mitigating the less-than-perfect fit.

"Pretty good, considering this dress was made for someone who _has_ boobs," Lanie murmurs.

Kate glares at her, but takes a look in the mirror, and whoa. "Lanie. It's – it's definitely not me."

"Exactly." Lanie grins over her shoulder. "You'll get there."

"But it's so short. It's too short."

"Not even. You're just taller than I am. And you have amazing legs." Lanie pats her shoulder affectionately. "Relax. I wouldn't let you go out looking bad, Kate."

Kate snags a pair of strappy black shoes from the floor of her closet. At least she has these.

"Okay. You look great. Anything else I can help with? Hair? Makeup?" Lanie grins. "Condoms? You know what happens when a man loves a woman very much, right? He gets really 'happy' down in his –"

"Lanie, shut _up_."

* * *

><p>Castle shows up just minutes after Lanie leaves, and she's glad they didn't run into each other. Lanie would've given her hell for it. Because Castle looks <em>good<em>. He's in dark suit, pinstriped, with a rich, deep violet shirt she'd never have expected on him, the top few buttons undone. Just. Okay. Well.

Does he know that purple's her favorite color?

"Hi."

"Detective." His eyes flick over her appreciatively, and he hands her a long-stemmed red rose. Of course. "You look gorgeous."

Her cheeks get hot. This dress is too short. "Uh. Thank you."

* * *

><p>He takes her hand as she gets into the backseat of a towncar – classic, comfortable, spacious without being over the top – before sliding in himself, settling close enough that she gets a long whiff of the rich musk of his cologne. It's dizzying.<p>

The driver eases into nighttime traffic and the car glides smoothly through Manhattan. Kate tugs her skirt down her thighs just a bit before she finally asks him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"All of it. This. Dinner. Tonight." She shrugs. "This was your big plan? A dangerous shootout, you save my life, and all you want is dinner?"

Castle opens his mouth for a moment, but - stops himself. Whatever he was going to say, he thinks better of it. She stares. Since when does Rick Castle, the charming, suave asshole, censor himself?

He finally gives a wry smile. "You wouldn't go out with me any other way."

She doesn't know how to answer that.

* * *

><p>Rossignol is bustling when they get there. Castle settles one hand on the small of her back as he speaks to the maître d', who smiles and leads them to a table near a corner, tucked back by windows with a lovely long view of the skyline.<p>

And after all the smarm and leering and suggestive remarks, she's shocked to find, Castle's the perfect gentleman. He pulls out her chair for her. He consults her opinion when the waiter comes to ask for their wine selection.

The young waiter nods and leaves, and she sits back in her chair, eyeing Castle across the table. He smiles at her. "You know this isn't a trick, right? It's just dinner."

"Right."

"For what it's worth - you really do look lovely this evening."

This dress probably shows stunning cleavage on Lanie; on Kate, it hangs. It's more artsy than sexy. But Castle's eyes are warm, his voice sincere in a way she hasn't heard before. So...Castle can do real, then. Wow.

* * *

><p>Over their entrées, he asks her about traveling. She finds herself telling him about studying in Kiev. About long weekends in Crimea, swimming in the Black Sea; about the food and the nightlife and the adorable old Hungarian woman who lived down the hall and used to bring them <em>pogácsa<em>. The way she used to just walk and walk and walk because the city was fascinating.

She stops, her fork poised over her sole, when she realizes he's just staring at her, an unreadable look on his face. "What?" She kept telling herself she hated him. She hates him. She does. Doesn't she?

He shrugs. "You make it sound amazing. I've never been to Kiev."

"It's beautiful." She hadn't realized she'd gotten so carried away.

"Maybe I'll have to go." He takes a sip of wine. "I might drag you with me, though. I'll need a guide."

"There _are_ actual Ukrainian guides."

"I'm sure. But I doubt any of them are as charming as you."

She flushes hotly, hiding her face behind her wineglass. Because if this is what he's really like? She's not entirely sure she'd say _no_.

* * *

><p>She's not really inclined to get dessert, but Castle assures her the chocolate tart is worth it. It's only mildly alarming that he's picked up on her sweet tooth. The wine is buzzing pleasantly in her veins, warm and syrupy and loose and she can't stop smiling.<p>

He tells the waiter they're going to share dessert, and she can tell he's pronouncing _tart au chocolat_ in his best French accent to impress her. The waiter gets a droll little grin, but just nods. "Of course, sir. Excellent choice. Will that be _á la mode_, sir?"

The young man walks off still grinning, and Kate's fidgeting in her seat when suddenly she flinches as she feels something brush her foot. Her head snaps up, and she finds Castle staring at her, his eyes deep and purposeful. Her whole body goes hot. She knows what he's thinking.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she slips off her right shoe, stretches, and drags her bare foot over the inside of his ankle.

She watches in satisfaction as he starts, his eyes darkening. He wasn't expecting that. He's spent all this time thinking he's in charge. Ever since he growled _I'd be happy to let you spank me_. It's exhilarating, seeing the shock mingled with blatant arousal on his face.

She's got power over him.

* * *

><p>The tart is unbelievable. Flaky pastry filled with creamy chocolate, still hot, with rich vanilla ice cream melting over it.<p>

"Okay, I admit it. You were right about this."

"_Ha_."

She rolls her eyes, but it's a concession she doesn't mind making.

Her spoon clips the edge of his by accident, and she starts, looking up to find him staring at her chest before his eyes meet hers guiltily. Oh. She was leaning over to reach the food, and the dress - well, it still doesn't quite fit, and he was getting a sweeping view.

"Enjoying the food, Castle?"

"_So_ much."

He murmurs it in a low, husky voice, a little growly, a lot intimate, and it sends heat through her bloodstream.

She sets her spoon down when they finish, and she's about to lean back in her seat when Castle suddenly reaches for her face. She freezes, her pulse pounding in her ears. He's not - is he -

He runs his thumb over her chin, sweeping slowly, grazing the corner of her mouth. She catches her breath.

"Chocolate."

She understands what he's saying but she's thinking more creatively right now. Before he can pull away, she flicks her tongue over his thumb, licking the chocolate off. His eyes go wide as she sucks on his skin, swirling her tongue over the tip of his thumb before letting him go.

This isn't the way he's looked at her before.

He's looking at her like he wants to take his time.

* * *

><p>The driver pulls up and gets the door for them. "Where to now, Mr. Castle? The world is your oyster."<p>

Castle hesitates, glancing back at Kate, a question in his eyes.

She bites her lip, watching as his eyes focus sharply on her mouth. He seems to like it when she does that.

She stretches up on her toes, letting her body just barely brush against his, and leans in to whisper into his ear.

"Let's go to my place."

* * *

><p>He doesn't slam the emergency stop button, rip their clothes off and shove her up against the elevator wall.<p>

He walks into the elevator behind her, watches as she presses the button, and as the doors slide closed, he asks her how she liked Rossignol.

"It was wonderful."

"I'm glad you liked it." He tucks his hands into his pockets, and she's having a lot of trouble seeing the brash public image of Castle in this pleasant, attentive man from tonight. Public Castle makes her want to slap him. _This_ Castle is so unbearably attractive she's wondering how long she has to keep her hands off him. "Would I be presumptuous if I wanted to take you there again sometime?"

_Asking_ if she wants to do this again.

Kate doesn't even want to waste time talking now.

She kisses him delicately, softly, the faintest brush of lips. His hands immediately come to cradle her face, his teeth nipping lightly at her lower lip. She clutches the lapels of his jacket, curling her fingers in the fabric, and it takes a second for her to realize the elevator doors have opened.

"You're a good kisser," he murmurs into her mouth, following obediently as she tugs his hand and leads him down the hall. "I like kissing you. Can we do more of it? Please?"

"What, you thought I invited you in for coffee?" Her lips quirk up. "Keep up, Castle."

* * *

><p>Kate holds out until they get inside her apartment. She twists the lock and the suddenly Castle's taking her hand, pulling her forward, into the line of his body.<p>

She can taste chocolate on his tongue, along with the richness of the wine from dinner, and it's all mixed with _him_ and it's taste and scent and the material of his suit and the low grumble that vibrates his chest when she pulls away from his mouth and catches his earlobe between her teeth. "_Mmmm. _Beck- _oh_, Kate -"

She threads two fingers through his belt loop and tugs, pulling him with her down the hall to her bedroom.

By the time they're in the door, she's managed to get his jacket off. It hits the floor as she tries to undo the buttons of his shirt, though he keeps sliding his hands up under her skirt and kissing her and she shudders, arching against him.

"Mmm." he grins into her lips. "Impatient. I like it."

She lets out a noise of frustration, wrestling with the buttons that finally start to give way, but he's obviously not waiting.

He tugs at her belt, swearing at the buckle before he finally manages to get it undone, and the dress comes loose, hanging off her body, the chest gaping awkwardly. She sees him eyeing it, curious, and her face gets hot. It looks stupid. Damn it.

"It's - not mine." She looks away, embarrassed, plucking at the fabric uncomfortably. "I didn't really have anything. It's Lanie's."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I didn't mean to - " he sighs, running his hand over the line of her back. "It didn't occur to me you wouldn't - "

"Shhh." She presses a soft kiss to his mouth, plants her hands on his chest and shoves until he stumbles back onto her bed, eyeing her with incredulous delight.

"I didn't even realize the dress wasn't -"

Does he ever shut up?

"It's okay," she whispers into his mouth, pushing him back down on her pillows and straddling his hips. "It's not a problem right now."

"You're right. I like this a lot b- oh _fuck_ -"

His hips buck into her sharply as she grinds down on him, and he groans. She takes the opportunity to pull her dress off and drop it to the floor, crawling back over him in just her underwear. Thank God Lanie helped her get dressed. Such wise advice. She was going to wear cotton at first.

_Lanie, what does it matter? I'm not going to sleep with him._

_But don't you at least want the option?_

And from the dilation of his pupils, the hungry, dazed look on his face as he reaches for her, black lace _was_ the right choice.

Before she realizes what he's doing, Castle gets a hand on her waist and smoothly flips them over, pinning her to the bed under the weight of his body. She squirms against him, gasping as he slips her bra off and sucks one of her nipples into his mouth.

Castle hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties and drags them down her legs slowly, so achingly slow, the lace scratchy against her skin, and she's already so wet and flushed and he's still wearing so many _clothes_ -

"You're gorgeous," he whispers into her skin, kissing the smooth skin of her calf, turning her leg to slip his tongue over the back of her knee and she shivers. He kisses the crease of her thigh, laves his tongue over the smooth plane of her stomach, worries her collarbone gently with his teeth. It's dizzying, the heavy, solid weight of his body, the firm, hot bulge pressing in the wetness between her legs, the heavy warmth of his tongue on her throat, and it's sensory overload. It's too much.

She grits her teeth and hooks her knee around his leg and pushes, flipping him onto his back again.

"I want to be on top."

His eyes go wide, but she doesn't wait for him. She deftly unbuckles his belt, tugging his pants down and slipping her hand inside his boxers. He's hot and hard and thick in her hand, and as she slowly strokes the length of him his eyes roll back, a low grunt escaping him.

She deftly rids him of his pants and finally he's naked, and her mouth goes dry. Fuck. _Fuck_. He wasn't joking. He's _big_.

The ache between her legs is unbearable, and he looks like he's about to burst. She finally straddles his hips, flicking her thumbs lightly over the hollows above his hipbones, and slowly lowers herself onto him.

Kate lets out a choking cry as he presses inside her, inch by torturous inch. It's...been a while. He's thick, solid, stretching her, filling her, and his fingers are clenched around her thighs as she sucks in a shaky breath and rolls her hips.

The movement draws a long moan from both of them, and Kate groans, trying to collect herself. It's too much, too hot, too fast, too -

Castle suddenly pushes himself up on one arm, tangling his free hand in her hair, kissing her hard and fierce as he pushes his hips up into her. She rolls her body against his, sucking on his tongue, and she rides him, faster and faster and harder until her whole body seizes up in blissful, uncontrollable release.

* * *

><p>She wakes up before dawn to find his lips feathering over her shoulder and his hand sliding between her legs.<p>

"Good morning," he husks into her skin. She tries to respond but his fingers _curl_ and she sucks in a sharp gasp, clutching at the sheets

By the time she slumps back again, sweaty and limp and exhausted, he's regained a self-satisfied smirk she's seen on him plenty of times. But as he kisses her mouth slowly, thoroughly, she really doesn't mind it so much now.

* * *

><p>She dozes off afterwards, and wakes again to Castle snoring lightly beside her, sun streaming through the curtains, and her phone buzzing.<p>

There's a text from Lanie.

_I really hope that dress ended up on the floor last night._

Kate grins and bites her lip.

_Sorry if it's a little wrinkled._


End file.
